The Two of Them (But Really Many More)
by CrystalHeartZyx
Summary: Sequel to "The Five of Them (But Really Only Two)." Follows The Dark Artifices. Things get crazy as Finnegan and Fionn's story continues, but there are things about Fionn's lost past that come to haunt him. By the time all is said and done, he might never be the person any of them had known ever again.
1. Fill The Day With The Things We Treasure

**Sequel to The Two of Them (But Really Many More). I know. So cringy, no point to it but the fact that I ramble. :P**

**So the plans that I had for this story mainly were meant to follow Lord of Shadows but then I started Lady Midnight stuff and couldn't stop. As such, I'm taking a _very_ long tangent to follow Lady Midnight stuff and I'm going to be behind my regular schedule. This story's gonna be a bit longer than I planned, and I'm uber busy right now, but I'll try to do biweekly updates for those who like it. If people give reviews and like it, I might bump up the update rate to weekly.**

**For now, it is how it is.**

**Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

Hunter blinked. "For how long?"

"I am unsure, however one month is what I have gathered to be the deadline," Fae informed them, avoiding Hunter's gaze. "Iarlath is not one to be taken lightly. I must take caution while he is present, so I fear I will be unable to attend any meetings."

"What is this about, anyway?" Wolf asked. "You're saying this guy is the right-hand man of the Unseelie King? And he just came to the Hunt to use Mark to make a deal to find a murderer?"

"That is the word I have been informed of."

"But?" Pyre asked.

"However I find this suspect as well. Iarlath's presence is indeed questionable. To come and enforce this decree personally, to resort to Nephilim for aid in faerie affairs, even risking the loss of Miach…_Mark_ Blackthorn - each of these occurrences combined as one bring unease to my heart. I shall investigate for foul play, and yet I must be ever prudent."

"Don't get yourself hurt, okay?" Hunter advised meekly. "If this I-are dude catches you…"

Fae gave a small smile and put his hand on Hunter's shoulder reassuringly, but Hunter could see how forced it was. Hunter knew Fae, and he could read Fae's expressions of sympathy with ease.

This was not one of them.

It was more forced than anything. Whatever Fae was hiding under his façade, he did a good job of hiding it. He couldn't sense what Fae was thinking, though he knew that Fae _was_ thinking. Their last encounter had never left Hunter's mind, and now that Fae was back to himself, Hunter could only imagine what was going through the faerie's head.

"Worry not, my Hunter. I know what lies at stake. I shall not subject you to my negligence, allow you to tremble in fear for my life. All with Iarlath and Mark shall be resolved within a pair of fortnights. Or have you no trust in my ability?"

Hunter blinked before averting his gaze. "You know I trust you."

"I understand that trust falters often. This hiatus shall not last and we shall meet again. Have not fear. I must depart, but we _will_ meet again."

There was almost a reluctance within his promise, as though he dreaded the day that it came. Hunter simply hummed in acknowledgment. The others didn't need to be dragged into this conflict.

"See ya," Lock waved.

"Bye!" Pyre and Wolf said in unison.

"Come back to us as soon as you're able," Hunter requested.

Fae gave a curt nod in Hunter's direction, a small scowl forming as he turned away to his horse. "If it is your wish, I shall consider such."

* * *

Finn walked up to the Los Angeles Institute.

The Blackthorns weren't exactly the best people to hang out with if he wanted to get is mind off of a certain faerie - considering they had two eldest half-faerie siblings that were tragically missing, one of which being in the Wild Hunt, being acquainted with, and probably friends with Fae but who was also apparently being used in some faerie deal-

Alrighty, already failing at getting his mind off of things. This assignment to aid the L.A. Institute in rogue faerie control in California was gonna be _fun_. Can you _feel_ the sarcasm?

He'd been told that he needed to work with the other Institutes in California to help crack down on the organization of faeries upset about the conclusion of the Dark War and the Cold Peace. Selina was currently at the San Diego Institute while Finn was in charge of the Los Angeles one. Thanks to the information that Fae had given him, Finn had been deemed one of the most capable of handling the situation. Little did they know that now he didn't have a proper source of faerie information anymore, both because of his 'fallout' with Fae as well as the fact that he had to leave because of his problem with that Iarlath guy from the Unseelie Court. It was a miracle that Finn had gotten permission to pursue the case in the first place, but Nephilim were in short supply. They were willing to overlook his faerie ties so long as Finn played it off that he was only using the faerie informant until he didn't need them anymore. That was enough for the Clave. Now he was in charge of the faerie operation.

Of course the Clave knew that with the Cold Peace in play, anything involving faeries was a touchy subject, but finding out that faeries were beginning to form an organization to kill Shadowhunters, Downworlders, mundanes alike wasn't something that could be ignored. Still, it was a quiet operation, meant to be kept as nothing but rumors and nothing threatening. It was usually a job for the Scholomance and the Silent Brothers and stuff, but Finn could be convincing when he wanted to be.

Hunter opened the front doors and walked inside of the L.A. Institute. At least he'd be able to see Emma Carstairs and the rest of the Blackthorn kids. They were fun at the very least, and they weren't strangers thanks to his parabatai ceremony with Selina. He wondered if Julian was still slightly miffed about the whole food fight incident.

Finn was surprised to hear that Julian Blackthorn was actually in England at the moment, along with the rest of the Blackthorns. They had left at the beginning of the summer to visit their great-aunt in Sussex - as the Blackthorn family was originally British (similarly, the Scion family was apparently Scottish on his mother's side). The Institute, in turn, was extremely quiet, considering that after the Dark War, most of the Institutes were short on numbers. There were a grand total of four families at the San Francisco Institute, one of which being the Scion family with just Finn now that Merida was at the Scholomance (as well as his uncle who was his legal guardian) and another being the Dalmasca family, consisting of Selina and only Selina. The other two were families Finn didn't care much for since there weren't any others of his age range. The only one he regularly interacted with was the Head for obvious reasons, and the Head was his uncle.

Then, Finn met Cristina.

She looked, upon first impressions, to be strong-willed, smart, a skilled fighter, as well as a nice woman. Finn needed to be careful who he trusted these days with the world going crazy and all. There were either really good people or really bad, sympathizers or extremists. But Cristina looked to be one of the good ones, not a stuck up snob that believed in the law so hard that they became immoral monsters and just plain jerks. Especially after what the Clave said about the circumstances around Emma's parents, Finn knew that _she_ wasn't a devotee, and so her trust of Cristina helped reassure Finn of her character. (That instantly made Finn think of L.A. Devotee from Panic! At the Disco considering he was in L.A. and he'd just thought about devotees. By the angel, his mind was messed up).

Everything about Cristina was neat and put together. She managed to look as professional in her black fighting gear as most people would look in a power suit. Her golden good-luck medallion glimmered at the hollow of her throat and her family ring, twined with a pattern of roses for Rosales, shone on her hand. She'd come to Los Angeles from Mexico City for reasons she didn't speak of. It wasn't odd for Shadowhunters to visit foreign Institutes when they reached eighteen to learn their different customs, but there was something about Cristina that made her seem like she was running from something. Emma was running from loneliness, just based on her story about what happened to her parents, so it was no surprise that the two of them got along swimmingly.

Finn heard stuff about some Perfect Diego that was so perfect that Cristina was loath to talk about it, so Finn didn't prod. He wasn't unfamiliar with relationship issues, but just because he was dating a guy (_was_ he dating him anymore? What was even going on with them right now?) didn't mean he understood the mindset of a woman. Cristina was that kind of person that Finn wanted to give a hug to comfort her, sure, but he wasn't sure how good he was at giving dating advice. In essence, he stayed quiet.

"The Blackthorns are coming back in a couple days, so you'll get to catch up soon," Emma informed him. "Arthur is here though, if you want to report to him."

"I'll wait for Julian and the others. It'll be good to catch up if they're so close to returning."

It was easy to forget that Emma was considered underaged for a Shadowhunter. Even she and Julian were close, but they were still 17. Once a Shadowhunter reached around 15, Finn stopped paying attention to their age. A Shadowhunter was a Shadowhunter from the moment they were born. It was a realization that he'd passed by his teen years already - his parabatai ceremony had taken place just before he turned 19, and now he was in his twenties. 22 now? 23? Ugh, he'd lost track of his age. Now that wasn't good.

Emma showed him to his room, one of many that the Institutes had since they could hold 200 plus and the numbers were already low. Finn sent a fire message to Selina and his uncle - Head of the San Francisco Institute, telling them that he'd be staying for a couple extra days to wait for Julian and the other Blackthorns returned.

Finn, growing bored of sitting in his room, went to the kitchen for a snack. The Institute was relatively the same as his own, albeit it had that small touch that showed it belonged to a family that had lived there for a long time. There were little details - moved locations of certain dishes, a coffee maker placed at a different location than back at the Frisco Institute, a notepad here, a pair of headphones there, maybe a paintbrush beside the sink, and weapons scattered about in different locations to suit the Blackthorn's (and Emma's) needs. There was an organization within the chaos, a mark that said this wasn't just any Institute kitchen, it was the Blackthorns' (and Emma Carstairs. You know, let's just say that when he referred to the Blackthorns, Emma was automatically included. She was parabatai with Julian and a best friend of the Blackthorn family anyway. Oh, but then that left the newest girl, Cristina…).

"What did you say your name was?"

Speak of the Nephilim.

Finn wasn't even startled when Cristian spoke up. His hearing, as a singer and musician, was already above average and sensitive without his runes activated. He'd heard someone shuffling about, and because he was already familiar with Emma, he knew that the unfamiliar patterns meant it was Cristina.

"Finn," he responded, searching the pantry for food.

With the Blackthorns ranging in ages, there were still signs of children under 10 years old (particularly Octavian Blackthorn - aka 'Tavvy,' who was only seven). Drusilla, 'Dru,' Blackthorn was 13 and obsessed with horror, or so Emma had told Finn. Then there were the twins: Tiberius Nero Blackthorn (Emma had made a point of admitting that his parents may have gone a little overboard with his name - "It's like naming someone Magnificent Bastard.") aka Ty. He was the very definition of organized chaos, a reader to the core who always had headphones for stressful situations and also liked animals. His twin sister was Livia 'Livvy' Blackthorn, a smart and imaginative girl who was bound to go far and who was very protective of her family. Both 15-year-old twins were into computers - Ty interested in the patterns they could organize and Livvy enjoying the math. They were an inseparable pair that would sometimes get into trouble but it would always be together.

Then there was Julian Blackthorn. Emma didn't say much about her parabatai, but Finn knew he was a painter, very protective of his siblings. Finn speculated Emma was upset that the Blackthorns had left for England and she was still here (why she hadn't come too, Finn didn't know). Being without one's parabatai could be painful, especially over such a great distance. Finn himself could feel a slight tingle in the back of his mind - or on his clavicle where his parabatai rune was, rather - from Selina being over a hundred miles away. He couldn't imagine the discomfort of being an ocean apart.

"Your _full_ name, I mean," Cristina pressed.

"Finnegan Scion," he responded, grabbing a pack of Oreos and sticking one in his mouth before grabbing another three and returning the rest to the pantry.

She gave a small smile. "I _knew_ it. You're the guy that people are talking about in the Shadowhunter world."

Finn chuckled and wiped the Oreo crumbs onto a napkin. "People are talking about me? You don't say."

"Let's just say there's a debate about you and Emma being the next Jace Herondale," she smirked.

Finn laughed this time. "Jace Herondale? I'll leave that title to Emma if she wants it."

"Why's that?"

"I don't wanna be a Herondale. Surprising?"

She shrugged. "It's expected of Shadowhunters to look up to the Herondales."

"For one, I like being a Scion. For another, I don't wanna be compared to someone who's mostly great because of his blood. Jace did great things on his own, I admit, but just the Herondale name itself just…_irks_ me. Jace is practically _worshiped_ as a Herondale, and sure he did amazing things in the war, but so many simply look at him because of his bloodline. In the Shadowhunter world, you're born great or not. If you're born with Downworlder blood like warlocks and faeries, suddenly you're always suspicious, you're labeled by the stereotypes, and those stereotypes end up _forcing_ you to become what everyone thinks you are. If everyone treats you like you're a jerk, that you're untrustworthy and you never _can_ be labeled as an actually decent person, doesn't it just…_provoke_ you into wanting to lash out? A-And vampires and werewolves. They didn't ask to be who they are, they're cursed! Most transformations happen through accidents, and even when they're not, I'm pretty sure that if they knew the kind of discrimination they'd receive, they'd choose to be mundane any day."

She smiled gently. "You've done a lot of thinking about this."

"More than the average Shadowhunter. Sometimes I just get so mad. Prejudice and stereotypes are my nemeses."

She chuckled. "You're known as the guy who uses _music_ as a weapon. You're already breaking stereotypes."

Finn smiled and nodded. "Thanks. I can tell _you're_ not a fan of prejudice either."

She tilted her head curiously. "Oh really?"

He nodded and ate another Oreo. "I wouldn't have told you all that if I didn't think you were a good person."

"Well, I'm honored." She sighed, running her hand along the counter in thought. "It has always been my hope that one day I might be part of brokering a better treaty than the Cold Peace. Something fairer to Downworlders and those Shadowhunters who might love them. I, like every other Shadowhunter, know about Mark and Helen Blackthorn. Emma and the other Blackthorns, they all love those two no matter their blood, and I don't believe they did anything wrong. It's unfair, this Cold Peace. Something _must_ be done about it."

Finn finished up his final Oreo and wiped his hands and mouth. "Good to know I have an ally in this fight. Let's just say I have some faerie friends from before the Dark War that I want justice for."

She giggled. "That rhymed. Anyway, I'm gonna head over to the training room. Go get Emma, will you? She's sulking without her parabatai and leaving her alone for too long is a recipe for disaster."

Finn nodded. "Duly noted."

-_**TTOT**_-

Finn found her staring at her closet pensively. The closet, however, had no clothes whatsoever. Instead, the inside walls of the closet in her blue-painted room (the mural on the bedroom wall of swallows in flight over the towers of a castle - a nod to the symbol of the Carstairs family - had probably been done by Julian since he was an artist) were covered in photographs, newspaper clippings, and sticky notes in Emma's cramped handwriting. The sticky notes were color coded - obviously, Emma wasn't an idiot - there were stories from mundane newspapers, research into spells, research into demonic languages, notes that Emma appeared to have gotten from Diana - her mentor - and she even seemed to have official Clave files…basically everything that she could find connecting to her parents' deaths.

"What's that?"

Emma jumped and turned to look at him in surprise before sighing. "Julian calls it my Wall of Crazy."

"Your parents' deaths? You don't believe the Clave, what they said."

She nodded.

Finn frowned. "I had my own Wall of Crazy once, my sister and I worked on it together."

"Your parents?"

"My mom. She went out on a mission, didn't come back. Apparently, her death led us to a big Downworlder organization bust and she was regarded as a hero, but Merida - my sister - she found out that our mom had filed for divorce, that maybe she hadn't gone on a mission at all, that maybe she'd just left us for Downworlders who she trusted only to get herself killed. Merida became really Downworlder-phobic after that, our dad wasn't very warm and fuzzy, and I didn't really know how I was supposed to feel." Finn walked over and touched one of the newspaper clippings on the wall, reminding him of the things he and Merida had taped onto a board so long ago. "I used to stare at our 'Wall of Crazy' for hours, but I think what I felt the most…was sadness. I wasn't angry, I was a bit confused, but mostly…I just wanted my mom back. I didn't care how or why she left me, I didn't care who _killed_ her or why…I just…I wanted her back."

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "There's nothing to be sorry about. I _like_ Downworlders, I have Downworlder friends - though my dad wouldn't approve of it much and Merida nearly lost it when I first told her - but they're not bad people. There are good and bad guys out there, but blood means nothing. There are good and bad Shadowhunters, and there are good and bad Downworlders. Whatever happened to my mom, I wanna know, I really do, but at the same time, I'm afraid of knowing. What if we learn that she really _did_ leave us, her children, of her own free will, only to get killed in such a…terrible way?"

Emma put her hand on his shoulder. "Your mom _loved_ you, I'm _sure_ of it. You shouldn't draw conclusions based on the Clave or incomplete information. You _know_ who your mom is, right? That's what matters most, no matter _what_ you find out."

He nodded. "I know. Maybe I'll learn the truth, maybe I never will, but I don't think it really matters, so long as I keep her in my memories. What about you? What's your Wall of Crazy about?"

Emma looked into her closet. "The Clave says that they were killed by Sebastian Morgenstern. I'm one of the few people alive who saw Sebastian attack an Institute. I remember grabbing up baby Tavvy with Dru following, carrying him through the Institute as Sebastian's Dark warriors howled, I remember the sight of Sebastian himself, all white hair and dead black demonic eyes, I remember the blood and Mark, I remember Julian waiting for me. I saw him. Saw Sebastian's face, his eyes when he looked at me. It's not that I don't think he could have killed my parents. He would have killed anyone who stood in his way. It's just that I don't think he would have bothered going after them." Her eyes stung with tears. "I just have to get more proof. Convince the Clave. Because as long as this is laid at Sebastian's door, the real murderer, the person responsible, won't be punished. And I don't think I could stand that."

Finn averted his gaze to the Wall of Crazy again. "I saw Sebastian Morgenstern too. I fought with my sister and my parabatai - well, at the time she wasn't my parabatai, but still. I don't know how long we fought. We fought for our Institute, then we had a warlock teleport us to other Institutes, and even Alicante. There was so much fighting that I became numb at a certain point. When I first saw Sebastian, I couldn't tell the difference between my fear and my rage. But I fought with everything I had because I knew that I couldn't sit by and let others be killed like that. I understand how, in all that chaos, that other people may be able to get away with murders that can all be blamed on Sebastian. Whoever might do that would have to be sick, but it's entirely possible someone might have used that war to their advantage like that if they held a grudge or your parents stood between them and their goals."

Emma sighed. "I've been thinking about that too. Anyway, enough with the dreary stuff. Why'd you come?"

"Oh, Cristina's in the training room and she said to go and get you since your alone time is dangerous for all of us."

Emma chuckled. "Well, we shouldn't keep her waiting, now should we?"

* * *

Fionn begrudgingly followed Iarlath's instructions and kept Mark restrained as they rode forward to the Shadowhunter Institute where the Blackthorns presided. He found this treatment of Miach very inappropriate, but Iarlath treated the boy as a prisoner of war, a trade off for this plan that he conceived, nothing more. Miach was loyal to the Wild Hunt, he had proved that many times, but Iarlath was not of the Wild Hunt.

It had been two days since Fionn and Mark had slept. Each time they rested, it wasn't for the sake of the other faeries - it was for Fionn to carry out Iarlath's numerous demands of him.

'_You are Gwyn's most trusted torturer and informant,_' Iarlath relayed. '_Make the boy afraid of all things Nephilim. Purge him of any thoughts that might drive him to return of his own free will. Scar him as the Wild Hunt must, make sure he is a faerie above all else. It should be a simple task for one such as you._'

"Leave me with the boy," Fionn demanded. "No one is to disturb me, else I shall slit your heels and cut free your entrails to beget a slow end."

The faeries of the Court nodded curtly. Fionn could see the fear in their eyes at his statement. The faeries of the Wild Hunt were used to his threats, but it was a nice refresher to see new faces cower at his cruelty. That was barely anything compared to what Fionn had done in the past, and yet the casual remark made them uneasy because they knew he was serious.

He took Mark within the shelter they had built. The other faeries took this time to rest, eat, talk amongst themselves, and whatever else they desired. Fionn cared little for their actions. Only Kieran was the one he cared about, and he knew exactly what Kieran was doing. He was sitting awake each night, hoping to sleep but unable to do so when he heard Miach's screams of pain.

"For whatever it is worth, know that I find no pleasure in this task. You are my kin in more ways than one. For my brother's sake, I shall make this quick."

Miach didn't respond. Fionn had already been dosing him regularly with hallucinogens, not enough to make Miach lose his mind, but enough to distort fact from fiction - reality from imagination. And that was a dangerous state to be in. Easy prey for a torturer like Fionn.

Fionn grabbed the weapons that he'd been offered for torture sessions by the other fey, but though he claimed he required them, that was a twisting of the truth. He required them to hide the reality of this particular session. Any time he interviewed a Shadowhunter, Fionn was the only one who could ever make them crack, and Gwyn valued that enough to not ask questions about Fionn's methods. Fionn tossed the weapons aside in favor of his own enchanted blade as well as his secret weapon - a stele.

Fionn only knew a total of two Shadowhunter runes, but they were more than enough to be useful for him - Iratze and Agony, healing and pain. He bound Miach's wrists and ankles to make sure that he didn't struggle. And he would struggle no matter what, even if he didn't mean to.

"Prepare yourself if you are able," Fionn warned in a futile attempt to brace Miach for what was to come.

He himself hadn't had the Agony rune used on himself, but he had seen the effects first-hand multiple times. Fionn had never dared even use the Iratze on himself. Just because he could use a stele to _draw_ runes didn't mean he was able to bear them, and he wasn't eager to test it out. The power to draw the runes was most likely the Astral in him, and with his infection that mostly emerged when in contact with strong Astrals, he wanted to use the power as sparingly as possible. Wearing a rune might mean he would bring out the Astral part of him that was going insane. Being lost within that virus - the Scourge, as Seline called it - was a nightmare. Waking up from it could be more painful than the nightmare itself. He imagined that was what the Agony rune was like, just with a little more physical pain as well as mental.

He drew the simple rune on Miach's shoulder, having removed his shirt beforehand. The others expected him to whip Miach, maybe carve into his skin, and yes, cut his organs free one by one from the least important to the most. Instead, he was drawing a small squiggle.

The rune seared across Miach's skin - glowing red rather than the normal dull colors when Nephilim used them - and he screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice already raspy from a lack of water and the doings of the previous night where the process was much the same. Fionn knew that Kieran could hear, that his brother wanted to leave and yet he also couldn't abandon Miach. It only lasted a few seconds, but by then Miach was breathing hard and sweating from the torture. The Agony rune sent pain throughout his entire body without any physical evidence, though the Agony rune itself tended to last for a while before it faded.

Fionn waved the stele over the rune again and Miach spasmed like a monster was trying to escape his body and screaming for freedom. Maybe he himself was trying to escape his own body.

Fionn could tap into the Agony rune if he wanted to see what the victim was seeing, feel just a fraction of the mental pain. Miach was reliving the separation from his family, his days first being given to the Hunt before he'd met Kieran, as well as his worst nightmares. His family being slaughtered in horrendous ways, Kieran abandoning him because he wasn't worthy. The Hunt had used hallucinogens to make Miach see his lost family many times. They convinced him that they were dead in order to break him, and whether Miach had truly given in or not, it still shook him to the core.

There was so much confusion too.

"I am loyal…why…?" Miach muttered. "Why…? Why?! _Why?!_ I swear I am loyal to the Wild Hunt and Gwyn!"

"This is no punishment for loyalty to the Hunt, Miach," Fionn assured him, but he was sure the half-breed couldn't hear him.

"I am loyal, make it _stop!_"

"The Nephilim have abandoned you, no? They have sent no scouting parties to seek you out, they have found you no Shadowhunter despite all you have done to prove yourself. It seems we have a past in common. Let me tell you something." Fionn waved the stele over the Agony rune again and continued speaking over Miach's screams. He was mostly talking to avoid the punches to his gut that came from hearing his friend's cries. "My father refused to accept me no matter what I did. I could neither run nor hide. When there is nowhere you _truly_ belong, where are you to go? Being with the Nephilim seems to be a dangerous option. They will treat you with little respect and much prejudice. We do so in the Hunt as well, I admit, yet we honor you when you prove your loyalty. At least, I believe so - I would _like_ to believe so…"

He renewed the Agony rune again.

"It must be your choice. We have luck on our side when I convinced Iarlath that the Nephilim would not accept the deal should we not give them hope of your permanent return. However, I fail to understand Iarlath's reasons for making such a dangerous bargain in the first place. The Blackthorns are the only ones willing to make such a deal with faeries under the Cold Peace because of you, and yet I feel disquieted at why we would need their assistance in the first place."

One more time.

"Perhaps I shall encounter Hunter. It is a slim chance. What am I to say to him? The Scourge is not his fault, nor mine. Yet I am speechless at the thought of an encounter. We are growing dangerously close to each other's true identities. What will occur afterwards, I wonder?"

Miach slumped over in exhaustion, but the Agony rune wouldn't let him sleep. He was tearing up now, but he wasn't fully aware of anything. He was still in the land of his mind, his nightmares. If he were any weaker, he'd no doubt be reduced to a dazed, mumbling, drooling mess, his mind permanently destroyed. But he'd recover. He was strong.

It was only a few hours a day for two days, and yet Fionn was glad that it was finally over. Hopefully Miach's family, if no one else, would treat him properly. Fionn's information on the Blackthorns confirmed that they would accept him and love him no matter the circumstances. Miach would have peace with his relations for a few weeks. Hopefully. But would that mean he would give up the happiness he brought to Kieran? Would he abandon Kieran to the loneliness of the Wild Hunt, the loneliness of being without his first and only love?

Fionn rose and exited the shelter. "I finish, Iarlath. Let us proceed."

He sure as Hellfire hoped not.

* * *

Emma Carstairs was no slacker.

She ran five miles a day up and down a beach. Every day. And that was after three hours at least in the training room. Half the scars Emma had on her body she'd put there herself - teaching herself to fall from the highest rafters, training herself to fight through pain by practicing barefoot. On broken glass. It reminded Finn of the days training under his father before he left for Idris and Sergei, their tutor, came in to replace him. Finn, Merida, and Selina were all weary of Sergei at first, but he proved to be a strict yet lenient teacher all at the same time. Though he was tough, he wasn't as ruthless as Finn's dad had been.

Finn had his own fair share of self-inflicted scars, but nothing compared to the long white line on Emma's arm from her sword - Cortana. She had gotten it the day that her parents had died, cradling the blade through the blood and the pain, weeping as it cut her skin. She was slightly self-conscious about it now, but Finn saw it as a scar she needed. It was an eternal reminder of her parents, in a way, showing that she cared about them enough to bleed in her misery when they passed. She was lucky. Finn had a scar on his back, going all the way down his spine. His father had given it to him during a training session where Finn was supposed to learn about polearms. The weapon he had been given was much too heavy for him at the time, but his father was skilled with a spear. He had slipped behind Finn with ease and sliced him right down his back, right down the ridges of his spine. Merida had slapped their father that day while Selina had given Finn an Iratze. Even after that, he had to go to the Silent Brothers for treatment.

Emma's scar was a reminder of how she would avenge her parents' deaths, how she would remember them and mourn them forever. Finn's scar was a reminder of how he was going to kick his father's ass one day.

Finn was hurrying out the door, having woken up late and missed going out with Emma for her morning jog. He was ordered by the Head of the Frisco Institute to stay with the Blackthorns for a while, and he decided that adding a jog to his morning wouldn't be a bad thing. After all, he and Emma were supposed to be competing for the next best Shadowhunter. Finn didn't care about the competition, but he also didn't wanna seem like a slacker. When Selina arrived, she might join him too. Or she might convince him not to take a morning jog and he wouldn't put up much of an argument. Parabatai, helping make important decisions in life.

He was running out the doors when he bumped into a man that was walking down the stairs.

"Sorry!"

The man was tall and narrow, dressed in a long coat the color of crow feathers, his hair short and graying. Finn recognized him as Johnny Rook, a notorious man in the world of the Shadow Market. Finn himself had done reluctant deals with Johnny Rook, but Finn had known to be careful. Finn hadn't seen Rook for many years now, he hadn't _needed_ Rook's services ever since he found his Downworlder friends, so what was he doing in the Institute now?

Rook nodded to Finn. "No problem. You should watch where you're going. Aren't Nephilim supposed to be more graceful?"

Finn chuckled nervously. "Well, guess I'm still working on it. Sorry again."

He started to run away, wondering if Rook had even recognized him in the first place. Why would Rook have any _reason_ to remember him if they weren't doing any deals anymore, after all? Finn started towards the beach, but when he spotted Emma, she was sprinting past him and surging after Rook. When he saw her, his eyes widened. She broke into a sprint and cut him off before he could dart around the side of the house, away from her.

Finn knew that Emma had to have gone to great lengths to get information on her parents' deaths, but doing deals with Rook? Now that was risky. Rook stood his ground against Emma, and though Finn didn't want to listen, he had nowhere else to go. He had wanted to search for Emma, after all. It was only when Diana interrupted, calling Emma's name firmly and demanding she leave Rook alone, that Finn felt it was appropriate to head back. After all, if Diana was personally interfering, who were they to argue?

Diana Wrayburn, the Blackthorn family's tutor. She was extremely smart, extremely stern, and extremely tired of Emma falling asleep in the middle of class because she'd been out the night before. According to Cristina, Emma had a rebellious side, predictably, as well as an on-off relationship with a boy named Cameron Ashdown. Diana did not approve of Cameron, Emma's revenge plot (a smart person in Emma's life with a hint of sanity!) and Emma's rash methods.

Unlike most tutors, Diana didn't live in the Institute with the Blackthorns - she had her own house in Santa Monica. Technically, Diana didn't _need_ to be at the Institute all day. Finn remembered what it was like to need a tutor. Finn's tutor had been called Sergei, though since he was Russian, Finn didn't even wanna _try_ and pronounce his last name. The man was a hardened Shadowhunter who got the job done no matter what, but there were still rare instances that he showed compassion and respect for his students. It was nice to see the dynamic between Diana and the Blackthorns, but she could be damn scary when she got upset - and Emma had a habit of upsetting her superiors.

"You don't scare me, Emma."

"Maybe I should."

"That's what's funny about you Nephilim," said Rook. "You know about the Downworld, but you don't live in it." He leaned in and put his lips to her ear, uncomfortably close. Finn wouldn't have been able to hear his whisper if it weren't for his enhanced hearing of a musician. But he did. "There are far more frightening things than you in this world, Emma Carstairs."

Emma wrenched herself away from him, turned, and ran up the Institute steps. Emma went to take a shower before heading to Diana's office, a comfortable corner room overlooking the highway and the sea. Diana was good at catching Emma, and Emma hated being caught. Finn ran inside, seeing that it was about to rain and deciding that even if he _wanted_ to go out for a jog, it wasn't the best time. At least, that's what he told him. He knew that _some_ Shadowhunter would be berating him about _real_ Shadowhunters not letting a little storm stop them.

Ugh, he was having flashbacks about his father again.

He went inside to his room, pulling out the information on the rogue faeries that he'd been given. He had wondered why this information hadn't been given to the Scholomance, the Centurions, the Silent Brothers. It was clear, he thought to himself a moment later. It was a test. Someone had suspected his interest in Downworlders and wanted to know his affiliations. Besides, he had been known for busting a group of faeries before, and his connections were becoming suspicious.

The thought of the Scholomance, however, got his mind to other things. He wondered if Merida was out there now, getting the same mission to find information on this rogue faerie group. After everything that had happened, he started to really miss his sister. They were twins, never separated until she had gone off to the Scholomance.

"One of my three halves…" he muttered.

"You're back!"

Finn jumped out of his stupor and realized that the voice had been Emma. He jumped to his feet and headed out the door and down the corridor, removing his shoes in one swift motion and jumping on the railing to slide down. He had done it a million times as a child with Selina and Merida, and since the Institutes were so similar, he knew the way down by heart. When he reached the bottom, he jumped and slipped his shoes back on instantly before flipping in the air and landing (hey, if your shoes can't come off and be put securely on without any laces or straps, you're wearing the wrong shoes for combat. Tis the true sign of a Shadowhunter, honestly). He repeated the process, running across some railings and sliding down the ones beside the stairs, before he finally reached the second floor gallery overlooking the foyer where Emma was.

The space below was lit up as if it were daytime by a myriad of swirling colors, remnants of a vanishing Portal. In the center of the room stood the Blackthorns: Julian towering over the fifteen-year-old twins, Livvy and Ty. Beside them was Drusilla, holding the hand of the youngest, Tavvy. He looked asleep on his feet, his curly head against Dru's arm, his eyes closed.

Finn sat on the railing with a smile. It had been a while since he'd seen the Blackthorns, and it was always adorable to see young children. Finn still wanted to be a child sometimes, but then again, being an adult got you so much more respect. Tavvy was cute though. Who couldn't love a seven year old child falling asleep from Portal jetlag?

The Blackthorns had always been a family with a strong resemblance to each other: They shared the same wavy dark-brown hair, the color of bitter chocolate, and the same blue-green eyes. Though Ty, with his gray eyes, skinny frame, and tousled black hair, looked as if he'd wandered in from another branch of the family.

Emma sprinted down to her parabatai, and Finn couldn't blame her for freaking out at seeing him. Again, England was a long way away. She practically body-slammed him in a hug that was tight enough to crush, but a moment later he released her and stepped back, as if he just remembered that he had made a promise never to hug Emma again. Even Emma seemed off balance from the sudden retreat. He suddenly seemed more interested in his siblings, as if counting to make sure they were all there. Finn squinted suspiciously at the sight, but moved it to the back of his mind.

"I thought you were coming tomorrow morning," Emma said, trying to catch Julian's eye.

"Malcolm showed up early," he said to her, over his shoulder. "Suddenly appeared in Great-Aunt Marjorie's kitchen, wearing pajamas. Said he'd forgotten the time difference. She screamed the house down."

Malcolm Fade, the head of the warlocks of Los Angeles and a family friend of the Blackthorns. According to Veon, Malcolm had fit right into their crazy family of warlocks - him, Magnus, Caterina, Ragnor, etc. His eccentricity was like an old joke between them, just as Magnus's was a joke between Veon and everyone who ever knew Magnus.

"Then he accidentally Portaled us to London instead of here," Livvy announced, bounding forward to hug Emma. "And we had to hunt someone down to open another Portal - Diana!"

Livvy detached herself from Emma and went to greet her tutor. For a few moments, everything was a welcoming hubbub: questions and hellos and hugs. Tavvy had woken up and was wandering around sleepily, tugging on people's sleeves. Emma ruffled his hair, and Finn was reminded of that line from the parabatai ceremony: '_Thy people shall be my people._' If there was any doubt about it before, Emma Carstairs was a Blackthorn through and through.

When another portal opened behind them, everyone looked to see Selina walk through, stretching with a sigh and cracking her neck. "Finnegan Scion! Get your ass down here _now!_"

He jumped down to the foyer, seeing she was serious. "What's up?"

She walked up and smacked him, causing everyone to exclaim in surprise, but Finn held his hand up calmly to hold them back. "What's up? _What's up?!_ I'll _tell_ you what's up. You left _me_ to handle the _San Diego Institute_ all by myself! _That's_ what's up! You got to hang out with the Blackthorns while _I_ had to deal with this _totally_ racist guy and his buddy who were trying to hit on me and then I drowned them in a tsunami! So yeah, _congratulations_, you are responsible for at least two Shadowhunters-!"

"Uh, Selina?"

She blinked and followed his gaze to the Blackthorns behind her. "Oh, hi. I'm Selina Dalmasca, Finnegan's parabatai."

"Uh, what's this about a tsunami?" Livvy asked.

She waved it off. "Oh, nothing. Say, have you ever had guys hitting on you before but they're just _really_ not your type? Have you ever just wanted to shove them under-?"

"Okay, calm down parasista," Finn interrupted. "How about I show you to your room?"

"Yeah, yeah, parabro."

"Oh, I'm Finnegan Scion and we'll both be joining you guys for a little while. Almost forgot to mention that. Check with someone in charge for the details because we sure don't have them."

"Do they have a good armory?" Selina asked as Finn guided her up the stairs.

"Yeah, you should see the bows and arrows. Also the great swords."

As they retreated, they made casual conversation before Selina finally whispered, "We need to talk."

"Something bad?"

"Something…_interesting_. Let's put it that way."

The Blackthorns hurried to their rooms to get some sleep while Diana left for the night (as she didn't live at the Institute) as Selina and Finn retreated to Finn's room.

"So what's up?"

"Lock found a way to make sure my Astral power is suppressed and I won't set off Phoenix - _Fae_ \- next time we meet."

"Oh, so you went to see Lock?"

"He's the only one who knows about me and the only one who can help with this virus thing. Of _course_ I went to see him."

"Whatever. Continue."

"The only caveat to Lock's spell is that whenever I'm around Fae, I won't remember anything about my Astral self. It'll be a bit disorienting and I'll have some gaps in my memories, but Selina Dalmasca has been informed about the situation and should be able to handle herself. I won't have access to my powers, either, so try not to get yourself in _too_ much trouble, will you? Your seraph violin should still work since it's been blessed by a combination of mine and Mael's power - nothing that'll trigger Fae, but it might give him a slight headache at most when you use its magical properties; not when you play it as a regular instrument."

"I think that's manageable."

"There's more. While I was in San Diego, I took the opportunity to do some research and got some info from my servants-"

"You have _servants?_"

"As Seline, yes. Anyway, they're well informed and have told me that something is happening. Fae and three others are coming to the Institute - one of which is Fae's brother and another being Mark Blackthorn!"

"_What?_ Why would they-?"

"To make a deal. But listen. The final person is Iarlath, a powerful member of the Unseelie Court."

"Fae mentioned him, said he needed to be careful while he was around."

"Whatever Iarlath is planning, it can't be good. By offering Mark to the Blackthorns he's giving them an offer they won't be able to resist, but in turn, the Blackthorns will be put at risk with the Cold Peace in play. I think Iarlath _wants_ that - to keep the Blackthorns from getting help from the Clave since they have to protect Mark."

"That _would_ be a good technique. So you think they plan to take out the Blackthorns?"

"Or use them. Or both. Depends on the deal they make. Whatever happens, you _have_ to be present during that deal. I'm optional, but you are the most important. We need to figure out what Iarlath is planning, what the _Unseelie Court_ is planning."

"Can't your servants find out?"

"The Unseelie Court is good at hiding from Astrals. I'm not a high enough rank to get the information that I need, I'd need more power and more powerful servants. Something is specifically blocking us from seeing what they're up to, particularly Iarlath. The only way to get info now is to make him spill at knifepoint. Keep that in your back pocket though. We use knifepoint and we'll have no choice to kill him, since letting him live will only ruin things."

Finn nodded. "I get it, Selina. I'll be careful and see what I can find."

* * *

When Finn woke up the next day, Selina was reading a bunch of papers and looking at pictures. As an Astral, he assumed that she didn't need sleep, and so she was already working on the faerie cult mission.

"Interesting."

Finn sat up and stretched, rubbing his eyes. "What? Find something?" Selina held up the pictures she was examining and Finn snapped to attention, snatching them out of her hand. "_Selina_, these are _Emma's!_ You can't just steal these from her room!"

Selina shrugged. "She wasn't in there when I went to get them this morning."

"These are her _parents!_ Why would you-?"

"She stole them as well, you know. This information wasn't to be leaked to her or any other Shadowhunter not approved for the investigation. I took them because I can read these runes."

He blinked. "You can?"

"They're Necromian, a type of faerie Astral." She took the pictures back. "These are the result of a failed spell. An experiment. The question is, who tried to use Necromian magic, how did they get their hands on it in the first place? Necromians don't just go giving it out for funsies. I'm going to send a message to see if any Necromian will step up or if any of my sources can find out who it is."

"Okay, slow down. _What_ is a Necromian?"

"Exactly what the name implies." She tossed the pictures aside on the bed. "They're Astrals built upon the magic of the dead. Someone was trying to summon the dead, maybe even _revive_ the dead. And they were willing to sacrifice the Carstairs to do it. Worse yet, this failure most likely means they will need more blood to get it right."

-**_TTOT_**-

They found Emma and Julian coming back from the beach. The Blackthorns loved the beach, apparently, but they were in California, so it would be more surprising if they _didn't_ like the beach.

"What's up?" Emma asked, seeing their concerned faces.

"Information regarding your parents' deaths," Selina said bluntly, pulling out the folder with all the stuff she'd stolen from Emma.

Emma snapped to attention. "What?" Selina handed over the folder. "How did you get these?"

"You weren't in your room this morning," she stated simply.

"We're hoping to see if your parents and the recent other murders happening are connected," Finn explained. "We came to warn you. There are already threats that we're dealing with right now, and we don't need to add on to this killing spree."

"Sprees happen all at once, but in different locations," Selina corrected. "Like if you drive from place to place shooting people, _that's_ a spree."

"Couldn't be mass murder either," Finn followed. "Mass murders also take place at the same time, but are in the same location. This is _definitely_ a serial killer."

"The murders are spaced out over time, right," Seline agreed. "But there _has_ to be a _reason_. Serial killers always leave a pattern, they target their victims because of some kind of trait, physical or otherwise, that irks them-"

"-and the marks that have been found on recent bodies are just a signature left behind to identify the killer - they _want_ to be known - but it's not a connection between the victims, just the murderer. We need the connection between the _victims_."

Their parabatai bond kicked in without them even realizing. Finn found it so nice to be on the same wavelength with someone. What would he do without Selina?

"Dru would love you guys," Julian commented. "She's into true crime right now."

Selina waved away their tangent. "Anyway, the runes translated on your parents' bodies are dark magic, basically a sacrificial ritual, but it was incomplete."

"Incomplete?"

"It means that the spell didn't work, it means that there was some missing ingredient or something about your parents, Emma Carstairs, that wasn't compatible with the ritual in the first place - so either way, nothing good."

"What spell was it?"

"That's the question. I'm looking into it now, asking a friend for help, but you should all take caution. Whatever did this may yet come after the Carstairs blood again in order to retry this ritual, and there have been a recent string of murders going on lately that suggests whoever did this is still trying to find more ingredients, still trying to complete the ritual. Stuff like this, it only ever has dark consequences."

"This magic, is it warlock or faerie?" Julian asked. "Demonic?"

"Little bit of everything. In the end, all magic originated from the same source. This stuff is directly from a time when the only creatures in this world were human or…well, what you humans might call yokai. There was only magic and not magic, no different types to speak of. Old stuff, ancient, and deadly."

"What we need to do now is find the connection between the victims, find what this killer is trying to find with each one," Finn continued. "Is it their blood type, their potential, their eating habits, a disease they all have, what?! We need to know the spell itself and the key ingredient that's leading to all of these losses."

"Are you guys even _allowed_ to pursue this case?" Emma asked hopefully. "Like, _officially,_ approved by the Clave?"

"We're tracking _something_ under Clave orders," Finn agreed, turning back to the Institute and waving back casually. "Doesn't mean we can't go off on a little tangent. Bend the rules. There's something suspicious here, therefore we can't _not_ look into it. We'll just report our findings _later_."

Emma smiled and hurried after him back towards the Institute as the others followed. "So you can help us with this case? Your authority stretches beyond ours."

"We're not helping with your case," Selina said calmly. "We're just looking into a few innocent things, nothing more. Right?"

Emma nodded knowingly. "Right."

"You in, Julian, or do we have to knock you unconscious and take away your memories?"

She sounded deadly serious.

Julian nodded. "I wanna help all I can. We'll look into this, but do it quietly. First move is to compare the photos of the body you found earlier, Emma, to the photos of the bodies of your parents. If we can find any patterns, we might come closer to finding the source. Everyone will want to help, don't worry."

They started up the steps to the Institute, but Emma sprang past, up three steps, and turned to look down at Julian. "I'm taller than you," she announced playfully.

Emma had always sworn when she was a child that she would grow taller than Julian, but she had finally given up when he'd turned fourteen and shot up five inches.

Julian looked up to her, trying not to look to solemn, but unaffected by her attempt at lightening the mood. "Em, however much we might joke about it, you know I take this seriously. It's your parents. You _deserve_ to know what happened."

Emma swallowed, looking down. "This just feels different," she whispered. "I know how many times I've thought I found something and it was nothing, or I've followed a false lead, but this feels like something else, Jules. This feels real."

He phone rang. She fished it out of her pocket, but when the name flashed on screen she shoved it back.

Julian raised an eyebrow. "Cameron Ashdown? Why aren't you picking up?"

"Are they dating again?" Selina asked. "Or are they broken up again?"

"I heard they were dating last," Finn said, opening the door to the Institute. "But then again, you never know with relationships. Girls are complicated, am I right?"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"I'm just not in the mood," Emma snapped.

The front door banged open and two figures surged past Finn and Selina. "Emma! Jules!"

It was Drusilla and Tavvy, both still in pajamas. Tavvy had a lollipop in one hand and was sucking on it industriously. When he saw Emma, his eyes lit up and he ran towards her.

"Emma!" he said around the candy.

She pulled him close and wrapped her arms around his round little-boy middle, squeezing until he giggled.

"You think _we_ were ever that cute?" Finn wondered.

"Trust me, you were like a little puppy dog," Selina said. "Always complaining about Merida not being older than you, saying the birth records must've gotten it wrong."

"You remember being that age?"

"I remember waking up when I was reborn, sure. I'm an Astral, I've been watching over you through Selina's eyes for _ages_."

She headed inside as Finn smiled and watched the Blackthorn family interact.

"Tavvy!" Julian exclaimed. "Don't run with lollipops in your mouth. You could choke."

Tavvy removed the lollipop and stared at it the way someone might stare at a loaded gun. "And die?"

"Hideously," Julian agreed. "Fatally, fatally die."

He turned to Drusilla, who had her hands on her hips. Her black pajamas were decorated with cartoon drawings of chainsaws and skeletons.

"What's up, Dru?"

"It's Friday," Drusilla explained. "Pancake day? You remember? You promised?"

"Oh, right, I did." Julian tugged affectionately on one of his little sister's braids. "You go wake up Livvy and Ty, and I'll-"

"They're already awake. They're in the kitchen. Waiting." She looked at him pointedly.

Julian smiled. "Okay. I'll be right there." He picked up Tavvy and deposited him back in the entryway. "You two scoot along to the kitchen and reassure the twins before they get desperate and try to do the cooking themselves."

They scampered off, giggling. Julian turned back to Emma with a sigh. "I have been lollipopped," he said, indicating where Tavvy had managed to leave a blue sugar circle at the collar of his shirt."

"Badge of honor," Emma laughed.

"I look forward to a pancake day," Finn said. "I can properly introduce myself and Selina to the others."

"See you there, Finn," Emma waved.

He nodded and headed back inside. Emma stayed at the door for an extra moment, looking to Julian, but he had nothing to say to her. Finn had a feeling that he and Selina had interrupted something between them.

-**_TTOT_**-

"_¡Deja de molestarme, estoy despierta!_"

"_Lo siento, pero Emma te quiera en la cocina. Desayuno. Panqueques. Chop-chop-e._"

Cristina sat up and put her hands to her head drowsily. "You know Spanish?"

"_Un poco_. 2 years of Spanish, an hour per day on weekdays. I still can't keep up with real Spanish speakers, but I can translate the basics. I translated you said to stop bothering you and that you were awake. Sorry if I was a bit violent. The only thing that wakes my sister up when she doesn't wanna get up is a demon attack. Even then, she'd probably leave it to the rest of us and continue snoozing."

Cristina chuckled. "You sound close to your sister."

"We're twins."

"Where is she now?"

"The Scholomance."

"She's at the _Scholomance?_"

He nodded. "Top of her class. Skipped a few grades, kicked a few asses, left a couple years ago. We try and stay in touch with letters. I hear she's got a boyfriend, but they deny it. Hurry and get ready, I hear Julian's making pancakes."

He waited out in the hall as Cristina quickly got dressed in a pale pink sweater and pencil skirt. She seemed nervous as she heard the voices, raised in chatter, coming from the kitchen. She touched the medallion at her throat, seemed she did that when she needed a boost of bravery.

"Not used to crowds?"

She shook her head. "There are a _lot_ of Blackthorns. I kinda feel like an intruder on their family unit. They almost seem mystical with the way Emma described them. They're the most important people in her life, and the ones that'll make the rest of this stay pleasant or miserable."

"Don't worry, we're all friends here. The Blackthorns are nice. Except to their enemies. They're very cruel to their enemies. In the end, they're just kids wanting to be kids. Kids with deadly weapons and combat training, but kids nonetheless."

"How'd you meet them?"

"I know about them from rumors of course, but I mostly met them at my parabatai ceremony. Also Helen and Aline's wedding. I'd like to consider myself a friend, and being around them makes you wanna be a kid again."

She chuckled. "You don't seem _that_ old."

"I'm in my early _twenties_, are you kidding me? I've already got one foot in the grave."

She laughed. "Don't we all?"

The kitchen was a large room with painted walls and windows looking out over the blue-green ocean in the distance. A massive farmer's table dominated the space, surrounded by bench seats and chairs. The counters and table were tiled in what looked like bright Spanish designs, but if you glanced more closely, they formed scenes from classical literature: Jason and the Argonauts, Achilles and Patroclus, Odysseus and the Sirens. Someone, once, had decorated this place with a loving hand - someone had picked out the copper cooking range, the porcelain double sinks, the exact shade of yellow on the walls.

"I don't think I'm painted in a good light here," Selina muttered.

"You?" Tavvy asked.

"Yes. _Look_ at me! I'm just a _white blob_ in the sky. The brush strokes are done well, the tiles are placed magnificently, but the _moon_ here is _so basic_."

"The moon isn't the centerpiece," Dru argued. "Why would it be so important?"

"Well, you see, I'm-"

"Selina!" Finn snapped. "Stop criticizing the artwork just because you know the moon better than anyone here."

"Better than anyone, period," she corrected.

Julian was standing over the stove, barefoot, a dish towel slung around his broad shoulders. The younger Blackthorns were crowded around the table. The Frisco Institute certainly didn't have this big of a crowd to feed all at once. Though they had a big table back home, they rarely ever used it all together.

Emma hurried forward, pulling Cristina behind her. "Everyone, this is Cristina. She's saved my life about sixteen times this summer, so be nice to her. Cristina, this is Julian-"

Julian looked over and smiled. The smile made him look like sunlight in human form. It didn't hurt that the dish towel around his neck had kittens on it, and there was pancake batter on his calloused hands.

"Thanks for not letting Emma get killed," he said. "Contrary to whatever she might have told you, we need her around here."

"I'm Livvy." She came forward to shake one of Cristina's hands. "And that's Ty." She pointed to him, curled up on a bench seat reading '_The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes._' "Dru has the braids, and Tavvy is the one with the lollipop."

"Don't run with a lollipop, Cristina," Tavvy said.

"I…won't?" Cristina assured him, puzzled.

"Tavvy," Julian groaned.

He was pouring batter from a white ceramic pitcher into the frying pan on the stove. He nearly started pouring off the edge of the pan while looking over at his siblings if Selina hadn't pushed the pitcher back so that it stayed at the center of the pan. The room filled with the smell of butter and pancakes.

"Get up and set the table, you useless layabouts," Julian ordered. "Not you, Cristina. Or Finn and Selina for that matter. You're guests," he said, looking slightly embarrassed.

"I'll be here for a year," Cristina pointed out. "I'm not really a guest."

She went with the rest of them to get the cutlery and plates.

Selina grabbed a bunch of cups for everyone and placed them on the table, satisfied with her contribution. She went over and filled a cup with tap water before then seeking out a box of salt and mixing in an insane amount.

"You like a _lot_ of sugar in your water," Tavvy noted.

"It's not sugar, honey."

"What are you doing?" Finn drawled.

"I'm a Lunarian of the tides. I need salt water. It's not as good as water from the actual sea, but it'll suffice. I'm too lazy to go off to the beach for a drink anyway."

Finn sighed. "Why is this just coming up _now?_"

"You never asked," she shrugged. "I don't need _only_ salt water, so I just drink it when no one else is watching. Honestly, it's so easy to blend in with you people. You're so inattentive, even you Nephilim. Now go and help set the table, you can't be the only one opting out."

He sighed and grabbed his seraph violin, playing a long note as plates lifted out of the others' hands and then flew over to the table, landing gently in place. He also spread out the cups that Selina had gotten - as she had simply set them down in a clump in the middle of the table. The Blackthorns and Cristina all looked at him in shock, but Selina wasn't impressed and Julian stayed focused on his pancakes.

"There, I've contributed," he announced. "Happy?"

"Cheater," Selina muttered as she drank her salt water.

"How does that thing _work?_" Livvy inquired.

"Adamas?" Dru asked, examining the instrument closely. "Infused with high levels of angelic energy to produce a wave of energy under your control - basically everything with range of the music is inside a bubble and you can move things around that bubble at will. Or something like that."

Finn chuckled at her attempt to detective her way through. "Close enough. The Iron Sisters made it especially for me. It's unique, one of a kind."

"Cool!" Tavvy exclaimed. "I want one!"

"But if you get one then it won't be one of a kind anymore," Dru pointed out.

"_No_, you _can't_ have Finn's," Julian called, reading Tavvy's thoughts.

Ty was still reading his book.

There was a comfortable buzz of pleasant activity that would make any decent person relax. The Blackthorns had a nice family unit, and Finn hadn't realized how long it had been since he'd last been with the Blackthorns like this. He wanted to see what it was like with all seven of them. He wanted to see Helen and Mark Blackthorn among them.

"First pancakes are up," Julian announced.

Ty finally put down his book and picked up his plate. "I thought you forgot it was pancake day."

There was accusation in his voice, and something else besides - a slight edge of nervousness? Emma had once said casually that Ty got upset when his routine was interrupted. Finn admitted that he was the same, but who was he to complain when something good surprised him? When something bad surprised him, it often made him want to punch something in the face.

"I didn't forget, Ty," Julian said gently. "I was distracted, but I didn't forget."

Ty seemed to relax. "All right."

He went back over to the table and Tavvy bounded after him. They were organized, the Blackthorns, in the unconscious way that only a family could be: knowing who got pancakes first (Ty), who wanted butter and syrup (Dru), who wanted just syrup (Livvy), and who wanted sugar (Emma). Cristina and Finn both wanted theirs plain, and Selina predictably added salt.

"Just don't think about it too hard," Finn advised when some of them began to stare.

The pancakes were buttery and not too sweet, crisp around the edges.

"These are good," Cristina commented to Julian, who had finally sat down on a bench seat beside Emma.

Up close, Finn could see the lines of tiredness at the edges of his eyes, lines that seemed out of place on the face of a boy so young.

"Practice," Julian explained, giving a smile. "I've been making them since I was twelve."

"Me and Mer dragged Finnegan into cooking," Selina commented. "We figured that if the girls had to learn how to cook, so did he."

"I can make a _mean_ spaghetti," Finn deadpanned.

"Oh, come now. You can follow a cookbook better than Isabelle Lightwood - no offense to her, but _some_ offense to her. At least you follow the recipe exactly and don't make any…improvements. Finn's food actually comes out decent, even if it doesn't have the flare of actual chef's."

"I cut the ingredients to the milligram." Finn pulled out one of his knives. "Can slice a vegetable with a throwing knife from across the room."

"It requires nearly half his knives to properly slice it up into all the necessary pieces though. No one can be in the kitchen when he gets to work."

Cristina chuckled. "Can't you learn the normal way of chopping up food?"

"He _would_, but he'd sooner die of boredom."

"Got that right," Finn agreed. "It's more fun to chop your vegetables from a distance. The Shadowhunter way."

Livvy gave a bounce in her seat. "It's so good to be back," she said, licking syrup off her finger. "It just wasn't the same at Great-Aunt Marjorie's without you two looking after us." She pointed at Emma and Julian. "I see why they say you shouldn't separate parabatai. You just go together like-"

"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson," Ty suggested, who had gone back to reading.

"Chocolate and peanut butter," Tavvy piped up.

"The sea and the earth," Selina mused.

"Captain Ahab and the whale," said Dru, who was dreamily drawing patterns in the syrup on her empty plate.

Emma choked on her juice. "Dru, the whale and Captain Ahab were enemies."

"True," Julian agreed. "The whale without Ahab is just a whale. A whale with no problems. A stress-free whale."

"How _terrifying_," Finn exclaimed sarcastically.

"No whale should _ever_ be without an _enemy_," Selina agreed in the same tone. "Then again, the whale gods would probably kill me for saying that…"

Dru looked mutinous. "I heard you guys talking. I was out on the lawn, before I went back in to get Tavvy. Emma finding a body, murders, a ritual?"

Ty looked up immediately. "Emma found a body?"

Emma glanced a little worriedly at Tavvy, but he appeared absorbed in his food. "Well, while you guys were gone, there've been a series of murders-"

"Murders? How come you didn't say anything to Julian or us about it?" Ty was bolt upright now, his book dangling from his hand. "You could have sent an e-mail or a fire-message or a postcard-"

"A murder postcard?" Livvy repeated, wrinkling up her nose.

"I only found out about it the night before last," Emma jumped in defensively.

She explained going to a Sepulchre, encountering a faerie attempting to steal a myriad of jewelry. The fey had used the mentioning of Mark Blackthorn in order to get the jump on Emma, and while she was chasing him down, that's when she found the body.

"The body was covered in runes," she finished. "The same kind of markings that were on my parents' bodies when they were found."

"No one's been able to translate those, right?" Livvy remembered.

"No one," Emma confirmed, shaking her head. "Malcolm, Diana, even the Spiral Labyrinth," she added, naming the underground headquarters of the world's warlocks, where a great deal of arcane knowledge was hidden.

"Well that was before Selina came along and said she knew what they were," Finn announced.

Selina sat forward, pulling out a notepad from her pocket. "I've translated a few of the demonic symbols to English, but pronouncing them in their original language will result in disastrous effects. In essence, this is an ancient ritual and these bodies have been sacrifices."

"Where did you learn this language?" Cristina inquired. "If even the best resources out there can't translate them, how did you-?"

"I have my quirks," Selina said simply. "Don't be jealous just because I read a language that even many immortals don't understand."

Cristina's eyes narrowed and Finn pinched Selina's arm. "Ow! What was _that_ for?!"

"It's like you _want_ them to see you as some sort of criminal," Finn muttered. "Being all cryptic, showing off."

"I've got _nothing_ to hide. Your _dad_ is scarier than any of them. Besides, they're the _Blackthorns_. They're like the only other family I trust besides the Scions and…I don't know, the Lightwoods."

"Not the Herondales? Fairchild?"

"Herondales are blech. I don't know _what_ Clary sees in Jace. Women seem _attracted_ to him, somehow. Makes _me_ wanna punch him in the face."

Finn sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, guess that's not any different than usual. You abhor all things romance. Can we just get back to the subject at hand? Murders, rituals, sacrifices, magic markings?"

"Before, they were unique as far as we knew," Ty recalled. His eyes were really a very startling gray, like the back of a silver spoon. A pair of headphones hung around his neck, the cord snaking down into his shirt. "Now there's another example. Have you compared them yet?"

"I haven't gotten the specs on the new dead guy," Selina admitted.

Emma produced a piece of paper and set it on the table. Ty picked it up immediately. "I made a list of everything I know about the body. Some is what I saw, some I heard from Johnny Rook and Diana. The fingertips were sanded down, teeth broken, wallet missing."

"If I can get a look at this new body, I might be able to see if there are both similarities and differences to your parents," Selina said. "If this is the same caster, then there'll be a pattern in the runes. Every type of magic leaves a fingerprint. Even if I can't get to the body, I can determine a lot just from seeing the locations of the runes and the condition of the body itself. What have you got already?"

"Here, I took some pictures," Cristina said, fiddling with her phone before handing it over to Selina.

"On top of going to great lengths to hide the identity - which is probably not uncommon - the body was soaked in seawater and showed signs of burning, and was lying in a chalked ring of symbols," Emma explained. "And was covered in writing. That seems unusual."

"Water and fire together," Finn muttered. "Now _that_ definitely sounds like some ritual. Sound like anything you know of, Seels?"

"Beyond knowing the dark qualities, the combination of opposite forces lead to numerous options," Selina informed him. "Hell, even _light_ magic rituals use opposites for a maximum magic output."

"Maybe they're the sort of things you could search for in back archives of mundane newspaper articles," said Ty. His gray eyes glowed with excitement. "I'll do it."

"Thank you," Emma said. "But…" She glanced toward Julian, and then around at the others, her brown eyes grave. "Diana can't know. _No one_ outside this room right now can know."

"Why not?" Dru asked, frowning. "I understand the Clave and word about this getting out being dangerous, but _Diana?_"

Tavvy was paying no attention at all; he'd gotten down on the floor and was playing under the table with a set of toy trucks.

"Several of the dead bodies were fey," Finn explained. "Selina and I are already on a case involving rogue faeries in California. The Clave wants to keep it under wraps, but perhaps this is growing out of control. It won't be long before the Clave takes this case out of our hands again. This information should be put squarely out of any territory you Blackthorns should be messing with no matter what. However, this _is_ connected to Emma's parents. It wasn't a development that we had predicted, but an interesting one nonetheless. If Selina and I can hold on to our authority on this case a little longer, we may yet be able to find a connection, as well as aid Emma in finding answers, and perhaps even her vengeance. With that new body coming in, it won't be long before this is given to the higher ups. If you want the information we can gather, I suggest we get started now."

Emma glanced over at Cristina. "If you don't want to do any of this, that's fine. Faerie business is tricky and Diana doesn't want us involved."

"You know how I feel about the Cold Peace," Cristina said. "Absolutely I will help."

There was a murmur of agreement from the others.

"Told you not to worry," Julian said, touching Emma's shoulder lightly before standing up to start clearing the breakfast dishes. "You've got today off from classes, Diana's gone up to Ojai, so now's a good time for us to do this. Especially since we've got Clave testing this weekend."

There was a collective groan. Clave testing was a twice-yearly chore in which students were evaluated to see if their skills were up to par or if they needed to be sent to the Academy in Idris.

Finn laughed. "I remember Clave testing."

"We got to opt out since we started missions at 13 and never stopped from there," Selina reminisce.

"_Lucky!_" Dru whined. "They let you opt out?!"

"Our mentor, Sergei, offered to personally train and evaluate us," Finn explained. "He was a good man. I miss Sergei. I hear that he went back to Idris since his daughter died in an attack during the Dark War."

"Worse, she was turned into one of those Endarkened," Selina said solemnly. "His wife had already died in a sketchy mission given by the Clave, so he was already skeptical about them and their authority - what with Valentine being a prime example that they don't have everything under control and are so stubborn that they'll let things get that bad before they take action. There were rumors that he would abandon the Clave, the Shadowhunters, after losing his daughter too, but then he was assigned to help some orphaned kids after the war. He was the only one willing to try and deal with the traumatized and destructive children, try and help them move on from the major changes - aka all the death and loss. He had a change of heart. If nothing else, he was going to protect the next generation from the Clave's mistakes. He has an adoptive son from after the war - son of Jim Callenreese. James? Jake? Jade? Something like that."

"Wait, wasn't Callenreese the name of that kid who got kicked out of the Academy for disciplinary issues?"

"Um…oh, you're _right!_ Jade Callenreese, wanted to change his name to Ash - the dust left behind after the destruction and corruption that took his parents and his brother. He's made some friends though, he's getting better. Still a rebel to the core, but he's got people looking out for him - as much as you can look out for a kid that's willing to slit your throat if you look at him the wrong way. He respects Sergei and Sergei respects him equally, I know that much. I think they've both found a reason to keep faith in the world in each other."

"It's good to know Sergei's doing well. You ever wonder if he's gonna get remarried?"

"I highly doubt it. He only had one love in the form of his wife."

"Remember when he said he was gonna retire in the Caribbean?"

"He can't get away from the action. He acts all tough and uncaring, but he has his likes and dislikes."

"They go off on tangents like this often," Emma explained to Cristina in a whisper. "You just have to go with it."

"Is is a parabatai thing?" Cristina whispered back.

Emma shrugged. "Maybe a little."

Ty ignored Julian's announcement about Clave testing as well as the side conversation that Finn and Selina had moved to in favor of looking at Emma's paper with the list of her current progress in the investigation. "How many have died, exactly? People and faeries?"

"Twelve," Emma said. "Twelve dead bodies."

Tavvy emerged from under the table. "Were they all running with lollipops?"

Ty looked baffled, Emma guilty, Tavvy slightly lip-wobbly.

"Worse kid," Selina said. "They were _sprinting_ with lollipops."

Finn whacked her on the arm.

"Maybe that's enough for now," Julian said, scooping up his smallest brother. "Let's see what you find out, Tiberius, Livia?"

Ty murmured assent, rising to his feet.

"Cristina and I were going to practice with Finnegan and Selina, but we can-"

"No! Don't cancel it!" Livvy interrupted, bouncing upright. "I need to practice! With another girl. Who isn't reading." She shot a glare at Dru. "Or watching a horror movie." She glanced over at her twin. "I'll help Ty for half an hour. Then I'll come to train. And I need a new partner to spar with too. I can't practice with the same people over and over, I need experience with unfamiliar situations. You promised me a duel, Finnegan."

"You did?" Selina asked.

"I did?" Finn asked.

"You've promised right now. I'll see you after I help Ty."

Ty nodded and slipped his headphones on, making his way towards the door. Livvy went with him, chattering about how she'd missed training and her saber, and about how their great-aunt's idea of a training room was her barn, which was full of spiders.

"Guess I better get prepared for the famous Livvy and her saber," Finn said, standing and heading to the training room with Selina in tow.

Cristina was close behind, but she stopped at the door and Selina paused to look back, hearing the lower whispers of Emma and Julian. Cristina observed them with a thoughtful look in her eyes, a sad one, almost. It was as though seeing the sort of intimacy between parabatai was painful to overhear.

"You don't have to do this for me," Emma was saying, softly but earnestly, in a voice that she reserved only for her parabatai.

"I think I do," Julian said. "I think I remember making a vow to that effect."

"'Whither thou goest, I will go, whatever stupid thing you do, I shall do also?' Was that the vow?"

Julian laughed. "I have no doubt it was in the fine print. Finn and Selina took the vow too, and look at them. Ask them, I bet they'll agree. Doing stupid things with your parabatai is a guarantee."

Cristina dashed away, not looking back and passing Selina without even noticing she was there. Selina wondered if Cristina wanted a parabatai, perhaps she had once had one in mind but it had never worked out. She had lost her potential parabatai in some way, perhaps. Death, an argument, family, other parabatai. Whatever it was, Cristina was very upset about it, though she had worked to hide her feelings and get over them.

Selina frowned at her. Nephilim work so hard to hide their pain that they end up destroying themselves in the process. She would never understand humans, why they went to such great lengths to pretend so often. Just because she knew how to hide amongst them, how to lie and deceive, it didn't mean she would ever understand the human soul. It just wasn't possible for her.

Not anymore.

* * *

**Chapter title from "_Plains of Eternity_" from Final Fantasy XIII-2**

**In case you haven't read the bomb of rambling that is _The Five of Them (But Really Many More)_ \- and you really should before you delve into this story - Amalspach convinced me to make each chapter based off the title of a song, which I liked the idea of, so here we are.**


	2. You Make Me Smile, Even Just For a While

**Daylight savings is a thing. Life is also a thing. My response?**

**UUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH**

**Would you believe that the hardest part of this story is finding the songs to use for the chapter titles? Because it is. I'm like, "I need to save the dramatic songs for later and even the good ones about being in love I wanna use later, so what else is left?!" I mean, I want songs with dramatic and catchy lyrics that I don't find annoying, but unfortunately, the most popular songs these days are either so good I want to save them for later or they make so little sense that all I can hear when they sing is "Ahhooohwaaaahblaaah" with electronic editing. Here's a tip: if I can't understand the lyrics of at least 75% of your song without having to _look up the flipping lyrics online_ and I don't even come close with my best guess, you are NOT DOING IT RIGHT.**

**Enjoy! :P**

* * *

Emma hit the training mat hard, rolling quickly so that Cortana (her family's heirloom and her most prized possession), still strapped to her back, wouldn't be damaged - or damage her. In the early years of her training, she'd inflicted more injuries on herself by accident with Cortana's sharp edges than any exercises had, thanks to her stubborn refusal to take it off. Cortana was her father's and her father's father's. She considered herself and Cortana the last of the Carstairs family. She never left the blade behind when she went to fight, even if they planned to use daggers or holy water or fire. Therefore she needed to know how to fight with it strapped to her in every conceivable circumstance.

Finn jumped down next from the same height, rolling to his feet and continuing forward a few more steps to show that he was ready to use his inertia to continue running if necessary. He had the bow of his violin in his hand, grabbed from his back during the roll, ready to strike at anything he needed to hit. Selina was beside him, drawing her bow (the weapon one, not the instrument one) as well as an arrow in the air and rolling to one knee on her landing, ready to fire by the time she'd come to a stop. The arrows in her quiver were locked in for any acrobatics that might occur and would only come loose when she pulled one with enough force. With the push of a button, she could lock them in the quiver for storage so that no one but she could use the quiver or the arrows inside.

"Are you all right?"

Cristina hit the mat beside Emma more lightly than Emma had done. She wasn't armed and was wearing only her training clothes, so she didn't have to worry about any sharp weaponry. Cristina had sense.

Emma sat up and rubbed her sore shoulder and then stood to shake out the kinks in her muscles. "Fine. One more time."

"I'm ready for more," Finn announced. "Let's go, Carstairs."

"This is so _boring_ though," Selina whined, slipping her arrow back into her quiver and slinging her bow over her shoulder. "Just jumping, jumping, jumping. Sergei had us jumping for a solid month during our training. A _month!_ I'm getting flashbacks."

"Well prove that you _learned_ something from that month," Finn suggested, already following Emma up the rope ladder. "Or can you not keep up with the best Shadowhunters out there?"

"In your dreams, Finnegan."

She rushed over to climb after them. The medal around Cristina's throat gleamed decorously as she craned her neck back, watching the three of them shinny back up the rope ladder. Dark gold sunlight was pouring through the windows - it was late afternoon. They'd been training for hours, and before that they'd been busy bringing the contents of Emma's Wall of Crazy (though Cristina insisted on calling it the Wall of _Proof_ since Emma wasn't crazy. Sorta) into the computer room so Livvy and Ty could scan it all. Livvy was still promising to come train with them, though she'd clearly been absorbed into the online search for clues.

"You can stop there," Cristina called when Emma was halfway up, but Emma ignored her and kept going until her head was nearly bumping the ceiling, Finn and Selina right behind her. Emma looked down. Cristina was shaking her head, managing to look both composed and disapproving at the same time. "You can't jump from such a height! Emma-!"

Emma let go and dropped like a stone. She hit the mat, rolled, and sprang up into a crouch, reaching back over her shoulder for Cortana. Her hand closed on empty air. She shot upright, only to find Cristina holding the blade. She'd slipped it from Emma's scabbard as she was rising to her feet.

"Bomb's away!" Finn called, having climbed up to Emma's previous position and dropping down to roll and end up on his feet beside Emma and Cristina, standing at attention casually like he'd been there all along and _hadn't_ just fallen from the ceiling of the training room. "Sup?"

"Showoff!" Selina called, mimicking Finn except she whacked him on the back of his head when she rolled to her feet beside him.

"There is more to fighting than jumping the highest and falling the farthest," Cristina said, handing Cortana back to Emma.

Emma rose and took the blade back with a grudging smile. "You sound like Jules."

"Maybe he has a point. Have you always been this careless about your safety?"

"More since the Dark War," she admitted.

Emma slipped Cortana back into its scabbard. She drew the stiletto blade from her boots and handed one to Cristina before turning to face the targets painted on the opposite wall. Finn and Selina produced their own daggers and waited their turn as Cristina moved to Emma's side and raised the blade in her hand, sighting down along the line of her arm. None of them had thrown knives with Cristina before, but they were surprised to see that Cristina's posture and grip on the knife - her thumb parallel to the blade - were perfect.

"Sometimes I regret that I knew little of the war. I was in hiding in Mexico. My uncle Tomás was convinced Idris would not be safe."

Finn tried not to remember Idris back during the war. He, Selina, and Merida had still been teenagers, but they had fought with everything they had. The three of them went from Institute to Institute, using a warlock's help (Lock, actually, but Merida and Selina didn't know him at the time) to fight their way through every Institute they could think of. It was fight after fight, loss after loss. They liberated a good deal of Institutes from the invading forces, hunted the Endarkened down with a vengeance, but there was always a cost. They couldn't be everywhere at once, at any moment they could be felled by one moment of bad luck, and so many had already suffered before the three of them could make it to help. Idris was the last place they visited, and the beautiful heart of the Nephilim culture had been set ablaze. The streets ran red with blood, bodies were stacked like kindling in the Accords Hall.

Finn didn't know about his sister and his parabatai, but he had been in a daze at the time. Stop the enemy, identify the survivors. He used any weapon that he could get his hands on, particularly melee weapons that didn't need reloading. He stayed moving, his brain working at full capacity for the fight. He had been so focused on surviving, destroying the invaders, and saving the helpless, he had been so fatigued and tired as he pushed himself beyond his limits, that he hadn't fully taken in the situation for what it really was. He hadn't allowed room for his emotions, he didn't have the strength to. When the fighting had stopped, Finn hadn't realized it at first. It took Merida and Selina working together to get him to release his sword - a broken sword that he had snapped during the fight. He must've gone through a dozen swords alone during that battle. His hands had been trembling, gripping the hilt like a lifeline as he nearly stabbed his sister when she startled him, calling out his name five times and shaking his shoulder before he responded. Finn remembered dropping the broken sword, hearing it clang to the ground at his feet. It was like a starting bell - or maybe an ending one - that cut through the daze he'd been in.

A moment later, Finn had fallen to the ground sobbing with his two best friends by his side. A lot of people had hailed him as some sort of hero that day, talking about him as though he, his sister, and Selina had done something good and saved them all. But they hadn't. All they'd done was fight just like everyone else. They liberated dozens of Institutes; there had to have been hundreds of Shadowhunters that had thanked them. But Finn didn't hear any of them. He just thought about the hundreds that he _hadn't_ saved. He only saw the dead bodies that had to be collected in the clean up of Idris and the rebuilding that had to be done on the Institutes. He, Merida, and Selina had volunteered to help rebuild as many as they could.

Finn had received honors, just like so many others, but it didn't mean much to him. He couldn't quite understand it at the time. He hadn't saved the world, he hadn't stopped Valentine or Sebastian (or Jonathan, or whatever his name was. The Morgensterns, let's just call it that). He wasn't a hero. All he saw were those who lived and those who died. He had lived, so many others had died. The congratulations had died down within the week. His father had just nodded at him, as though he was acknowledging Finn's survival but he hadn't cared either way. There was no proud father-son moment, and Finn hadn't expected one in the first place.

He had sat in a daze for some time, though he wasn't sure how long. He remembered going to the meeting grounds, crying when he saw that all his friends were still alive. Wolf had a few new scars, Pyre had a dark look in her eyes to show she had seen things she'd rather not see, and Lock had healed up good as new. But it was Fae that had surprised him most. Fae had been terrifyingly calm, but without words, he had fully understood. Finn had stuttered through his sobs as Fae hugged him tightly, trying to explain the images that had refused to leave his mind, and Fae had somehow known. He had fallen asleep at the meeting grounds, but he suddenly felt better the next day, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, like a fog had been lifted from his mind. He had never asked Fae what he had done, but Finn could still look back on his memories of the war with pain. It just didn't debilitate him like it once had. That didn't make it any less painful though, seeing the images of the gore and horror flash through his head like needles striking through his brain.

"Your uncle was right," Finn declared sharply.

Finn chucked his knife without first aiming, using his left hand since he was practicing with left today (he alternated in order to teach himself to be ambidextrous). The knife flipped through the air, making a small curve in its trajectory to hit the target dead center.

"He died in the war, so I suppose he was," Cristina responded simply. She released her blade as well; it flew through the air and thumped into the central ring of the target. "My mother owned a house in San Miguel de Allende. We went there, because the Institute was not safe. I always feel a coward when I think about it."

"You were a kid," Emma said. "They were right to send you where you would be safe."

"Maybe," Cristina muttered, looking downcast.

"Really. I'm not just saying that," Emma insisted. "I mean, how does Perfect Diego feel about it? Does he feel like a coward?"

Cristina made a face. "I doubt it."

"Of course not. He's totally well-adjusted about everything. We should all be more like Perfect Diego."

"I don't think I even wanna know," Selina sighed, a hand on her forehead.

"Hello!"

A greeting rang through the room. It was Livvy, in practice gear, heading towards them. She paused to pet her saber, which was hanging on the wall near the door with the other fencing swords. Livvy had chosen the saber for her weapon when she was about twelve years old and had practiced tenaciously ever since. She could discourse on types of saber, wooden grips versus rubber or leather ones, tangs and pommels, and it was better not to get her started on pistol grips. Merida would like her, Finn thought to himself.

"I missed you," Livvy crooned to the saber. "I love you so much."

"That was heartfelt," Emma said. "If you'd said that to _me_ when you got back, I would have cried."

Livvy abandoned the saber and bounced over toward them. She commandeered a mat and began to stretch her muscles. She could fold herself easily in half, tucking her fingers under her toes. Finn snorted. Girls always had it easier when it came to flexibility. He had to train for _ages_ before he could match the girls (when not using runes, of course, since they did their training without runes to be prepared for situations when they weren't available).

"I _did_ miss you," Livvy said, voice muffled. "It was boring in England and there were no cute boys."

"Is that _really_ the only thing that teenage girls think of?" Finn asked.

"No. We think of cute _girls_ too," Selina said.

"Uh, depends on the person," Livvy interjected.

"Julian said there were no humans for miles," Emma said. "Anyway, it's not like you missed anything here."

"Well, aside from the serial killings," she corrected, moving across the room to take up two throwing knives. The four of them moved out of the way as she lined herself up across from a target. "And I bet you dated Cameron Ashdown again, then dumped him."

"She did," Cristina piped up.

Emma shot her a look that said '_**TRAITOR**_' in big bold letters, all caps, italicized, and underlined.

"Ha!" Livvy's knife went wide of the target. She turned around, her braid bouncing on her shoulders. "Emma goes out with him, like, every four months, then dumps him."

"Even _we_ know about that," Selina drawled, tossing a throwing knife between her hands. "Everyone in _California_ knows about Emma's reputation with him. See, _this_ is why I don't do dating." She tossed her knife a few inches up, caught it, and then chucked it at the target to hit her blade right beside Finn's. "I don't get why you date someone just to break up with them, then do it all over again. What did Einstein say the definition of insanity was?"

Cristina cut a glance towards Emma. "Why has _he_ been singled out for this special torture?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Emma groaned. "It wasn't serious."

"Not to _you_," Livvy said. "Bet it was to _him_."

"As a guy, I can tell you that we feel emotions just like you girls," Finn commented. "Our kind has pride and can have reputations about not being serious about relationships, but guess what? _Some_ of us actually do dating because we really love someone. It's just cruel to think that you date him knowing that it isn't serious to you."

The four of them all shook their heads in disappointment.

"Ugh, you all are ganging up on me now?" Emma said. "Is this how you treat your _friends?_ Huh?"

"Well, that's _one_ way faeries are superior to Shadowhunters," Selina said. "They take love seriously, believe in complete and total fidelity of the heart."

"They have their…flaws," Finn admitted. "But, I mean, it's gotten them this far in the world. Not to say they don't need improvement like everything always does, but hey, at least they've succeeded - mostly - in the love category."

"Done a lot of thinking about this?" Emma asked.

Finn shrugged. "Sure. Helen and Aline's wedding hopefully got a lot of people thinking - for the better, of course."

Livvy held out her second knife to Cristina. "Wanna try?"

Cristina took the knife and moved into Livvy's position.

"Who's Perfect Diego?" Livvy asked.

Cristina had been frowning at the knife; now she turned around and gaped at Livvy.

"I heard you," Livvy said cheerfully. "Before I came in. Who is he? Why's he so perfect? Why is there a perfect boy in the world and no one's told me?"

"Hey, what about _me?_" Finn protested.

"Oh, you poor, almost innocent, sweet child," Selina sighed, patting him on the shoulder.

"Diego is the boy Cristina's mother wants her to marry," Emma told Livvy. Now it was Cristina's turn to look betrayed. "It's not an arranged marriage, that would be gross; it's just that her mother loves him, his mother carried the Roasles name-"

"He's related to you?" Livvy asked Cristina. "Isn't that a problem? I mean, I know Clary Fairchild and Jace Herondale are a famous love story, but they weren't _actually_ brother and sister. Otherwise, I think it would probably be a…"

"Less famous love story," Emma finished with a grin.

Cristina threw her knife, hitting close to the target's center. "His full name is Diego Rocio Rosales - Rocio is his father's last name, and Rosales his mother's, just like my mother's last name is Rosales. But that doesn't mean we're even cousins. The Rosaleses are a huge Shadowhunting family."

"Like FDR and Eleanor Roosevelt!" Finn jumped in. "Both descendants of Teddy Roosevelt but one of them was from a line that was twice removed or something."

"My mother just thinks he's perfect," Cristina continued. "So handsome, so smart, such a Shadowhunter, perfect, perfect, perfect-"

"And now you know how he got his nickname," Emma said, going to retrieve the knives from the wall.

"_Is_ he perfect?" Livvy asked.

"No," Cristina said firmly.

Finn had noticed that when Cristina got upset, she didn't get angry - she just stopped talking. She was doing that now, staring at the target painted on the wall.

Emma spun the knives she'd retrieved in her hands. "We'll protect you from Perfect Diego. If he comes here, I'll impale him."

"Emma's a master of the impalement arts," Livvy agreed.

Emma moved toward the throwing line.

"You'd be better off impaling my mother," Cristina muttered. "All right, _flaquita_, impress me. Let's see you throw two at a time."

"_Flaquita?_" Finn whispered to Selina. "Never learned that one."

"Skinny," Selina whispered back.

A knife in each hand, Emma took a step back from the throwing line. She had taught herself to throw two knives at once over the course of a year, throwing again and again, the sound of the blades splitting the wood a balm to shattered nerves. She was left-handed, so normally she would have taken a step back and to the right, but she'd forced herself to be nearly ambidextrous. Her step back was direct, not diagonal. Her arms went back and then forward; she opened her hands and the knives flew like falcons whose jesses had been cut. They soared toward the target and thudded, one after the other, into its heart.

Cristina whistled. "I see why Cameron Ashdown keeps coming back. He's afraid not to." She went to retrieve the knives, including her own. "Now I'm going to try again. I see that I am far behind where I should be."

Emma laughed. "No, I was cheating. I practiced that move for years."

"Still, if you ever change your mind and decide you don't like me, I'd better be able to defend myself."

Emma and Livvy retreated back in a whispered conversation near the rack of gloves and protective gear. Cristina paced back and forth at the throwing line while Selina watched attentively, but Finn increased his hearing to listen to what Emma and Livvy were talking about.

"Did you get anywhere with Ty? And the parabatai thing?" Emma asked with dread peeking through her tone.

"He still says no," Livvy said sadly. "It's the only thing we've ever disagreed about."

"I'm sorry."

Livvy and Ty seemed like a close a pair as ever, being twins and all. Brother and sisters becoming parabatai wasn't unheard of, even if it was a bit unusual. Ty refusing the sister that he seemed willing to walk to the edge of the world for was surprising to Finn.

Cristina's first blade slammed home, just at the rim of the target's inside circle. Emma cheered from across the room while Finn clapped. He wondered why that was cheer-worthy, but he supposed that his father was getting to him. Finn's father had never found Finn's actions enough, so when he got to the highest height possible, the best response that he got was his father saying nothing. Throwing a knife at a target like Cristina was at _twice_ the length of the target line was expected of him as the _basics_.

"I think Perfect Diego might've broken her heart," Livvy said quietly to Emma.

"He did _something_," Emma said guardedly. "That much I've guessed."

"So I think we should set her up with Julian."

Emma stumbled and nearly overturned the rack she was leaning on. "What?"

Livvy shrugged. "She's pretty, and she seems really nice, and she's going to be living with us. And Jules hasn't ever had a girlfriend - you know why." Emma said nothing. "I mean, it's our fault - mine and Ty's, and Dru's and Tavvy's. Raising four kids, you don't exactly have a lot of time to date. So since we sorta took having a girlfriend away from him…"

"You wanna set him up," Emma said blankly. "I mean, it doesn't work like that, Livvy. They'd have to _like_ each other…"

"I think they could. If we gave them a chance. What do you say?"

Something in Emma's tone, the way she paused and how Finn could see her when he snuck a couple glances, Emma was _very_ uncomfortable with the idea of her parabatai entering the deadly world of dating. She opened her mouth to say something, but she didn't seem to have her thoughts together yet.

Cristina's second knife slammed into the wall so hard that the wood seemed to crack.

Livvy clapped her hands. "Awesome!"

She shot Emma a triumphant look as if to say, '_See? She's perfect_.'

Cristina walked over to retrieve her knives, having to tug hard from how deep they were embedded.

She handed the two over to Finn. "So, as the Shadowhunter in competition with Emma for the next Jace Herondale, think you can best us?"

Finn raised an eyebrow. "_Watch_ me. That two-knife trick was _nothing_, Emma Carstairs."

"Oh?" Emma smirked in challenge. "What have you got?"

Selina laughed out loud, doubling over as she struggled to gather herself enough to speak straight. "Girl, you're looking at the guy who juggles knives when he's having a panic attack in order to keep himself grounded. Finnegan is the best knife handler I know. His main weapons are knives of _all_ kinds. His father's a strict guy. If you can't throw at least three knives at a time at moving targets, you're getting a lecture on responsibility."

"Three at a time?" Cristina repeated.

"I can go up to _ten_," Finn bragged. "If we're limiting ourselves to using only my hands."

"He can kick knives with accuracy too," Selina explained.

"Oh _really?_" Livvy crooned.

"Stand back, ladies," Finn smirked.

The Shadowhunters stepped back, but Selina pulled them just a _little_ further away. Finn backed up as far as he could to the opposite end of the room. It was far from his maximum range, but it was still a hard shot. Gravity and wind resistance had to be taken into account, though the wind resistance when indoors was a lot easier than when outdoors and especially easier than in harsh weather. It was all about _feeling_ the direction that the knife - or any projectile really - was going to go based on the forces applied, feeling where it was going even after it was soaring through the air and away from the thrower. It wasn't something that could be taught with words. It was experience with all weights, all aerodynamics, all lengths, and external conditions.

Finn took three knives into his hand, tossed them up once to get their weight and assess all the factors he could (after all, sometimes you only had a few split seconds to test what you were throwing before you needed to throw it), and then chucked them high into the air all at once. He purposefully put a slight bit of spin into the weapons so that they would go at the ark he needed and come down so that he kicked the handles and not the blades (because that would be bad, especially if he didn't have the right shoes on). He jumped up, spun in the air and then kicked the blades with the largest arc he could manage with his leg, accounting for his lack of runes to aid him.

In a split second, like bullets, the knives were in the arc of his throw and then they were suddenly in the target. But Finn wasn't done. The moment he landed, he spun and twisted his body so that he could fling another three knives at once toward a second target all at once which he pulled from his collection. He threw the first three backhand, but then he threw five at a time with his other arm over hand, using the same spin to build momentum for all of them. The five didn't land in the same place, but they were evenly spaced out across the target, since the only reason he'd ever need to use five knives at once would be for multiple targets spaced out. If anything, it was hard to hold himself back for such a small range with all five knives.

Livvy clapped, Cristina stared, Emma squinted in annoyance at being bested.

"In your defense, girl, Finnegan is specifically trained in knife throwing," Selina said, patting Emma on the shoulder. "And polearm throwing - so javelins, spears, etc. And he's not too shabby with a bow and arrow."

"If it makes you feel better, I'm _terrible_ with greatswords," Finn said. "Maces, hammers, heavy stuff like that. I'm good at being quick with light weapons."

"So does that mean you're up for that sparring match?" Livvy asked eagerly.

"Sure. I wanna see how you use that saber."

"You're _asking_ for it, Finnegan!"

She rushed over eagerly to snatch up her prized weapon. The two of them lined up on the training floor with Emma and Cristina far back. Selina stood between the two as a referee of sorts while Livvy swung her weapon around to get herself ready. Finn simply smiled with his arms crossed, waiting to begin.

Selina shook her head with a sigh. "Remember ladies, Iratze exists, but try to avoid dismemberment and decapitation. Striking with lethal force is important, but striking to debilitate and not kill is just as, if not _more_ important. It's easy to strike your enemy down, it's hard to preserve them will still being victorious."

"First one to injure their opponent so they can't move?" Livvy asked.

"Um, how about no?" Finn said. "Julian would _kill_ me if he found out I paralyzed you, training match or not."

"Fair point, but maybe you're just scared of what I can do to you."

"In your dreams, Livia. I've seen _much_ worse than you. In a real fight, I'd turn all of your surroundings against you, probably hold your family hostage, and then make them watch as I used your own saber to cut you open while keeping you alive."

"He wasn't this violent before, I swear," Selina sighed, her hand on her forehead. "He was a timid child. Really."

"Ha, I'd like to see you try," Livvy responded, undeterred. "So, what's your weapon of choice?"

"Simple."

He pulled the bow of his violin off his back and flicked it in challenge, fast and elegant for a male like he was dancing. Then again, wasn't a lot of sword fighting just a dance - a little more deadly, but a dance, nonetheless? His bow was maybe a third the size of Livvy's saber and much lighter, but it had a noticeable sharp point at the end and the structure of the bow itself was sturdy and sharpened.

"You can't be serious."

He held up the bow. "Adamas with enchanted hairs. It's near indestructible. I assure you, I'm _deathly_ serious."

Livvy smiled. "Well then, let's see what you got."

Selina took a step back and raised her hand. "We go until a lethal shot _might_ have been made, but do not completely follow through. I mean it, _both_ of you."

Finn shrugged. "Come on, Seels. Don't you trust me?"

"We're parabatai. Of _course_ I don't trust you."

"Fair enough."

"How does _that_ work?" Livvy asked.

"I know him well enough to know that he's not making any promises," Selina explained. "Just _look_ at the smirk on his face, the evil leer in his eyes."

"Gee, thanks parasista," Finn muttered.

"No prob, parabro."

Livvy sighed. She held up her weapon eagerly. "Let's just get _on_ with it already!"

Selina sighed. "I give up. You know the rules. Kill my parabatai and I kill _you_, Livia Blackthorn. Beyond that…have at it." She raised her arm and then threw it down, taking a large step back. "Begin!"

Livvy was fast. Finnegan matched her speed. There was a clash of weapons, Finn's smaller and lighter bow holding up to Livvy's saber easily. There was a flurry of motion, the two dancing around each other as they were both offensive and defensive at the same time, blocking the other's attacks while attempting to strike with their own. There was a clanging of metal as their weapons clashed back and forth. Livvy was concentrating hard, enjoying the challenge, while Finn was studying Livvy's moves calmly. He wasn't putting in his full effort, Selina knew, but then again, neither was Livvy.

Livvy smiled and pushed forward, taking the offensive in their clash of equal powers to try and take the lead. Finn almost seemed excited to have to suddenly go on the defensive, which he probably was. He had something planned. He took a few steps back as Livvy advanced forward, their weapons constantly clashing faster and faster. To the untrained eye, their weapons might be completely untraceable, but the two of them were paying close attention to look for openings and block all attacks that came their way. Livvy seemed surprised that Finn was keeping up with her surge of speed and concentration, but rolled with it. They danced around each other with an increasing rhythm, and both seemed invigorated at having an equal opponent.

Finally, it was Livvy who made a strike at Finn's opening, striking her saber forward at the base of his neck. Her weapon stopped just as the tip came close to his skin. But it wasn't because she had stopped herself. Her saber had gone through his bow, right between the bow stick and the hair, but he had twisted it so that her weapon came to a stop without her consent. The bow was slightly shaking from the force required to hold her back at that angle, but he was doing it with relative ease and smiling. It _was_ the freaking bow of a _violin_, after all, holding back a saber.

He twisted his bow and pulled Livvy's weapon right out of her hand, spinning around and releasing his bow off the end of the saber as he grabbed the handle and elbowed Livvy to the training mats below them in her shock. In one circular motion, he turned her own saber against her, pointing it down at the base of her neck where she'd been pointing it at him only moments before.

"So, are you considered defeated yet?"

She blinked. "I concede. Wow, that was awesome."

He lowered the saber, but didn't lower his guard. Even after conceding, it was common for his sparring partner to get the jump on him despite the match being over. Weren't friends just great like that? Finn sheathed his bow onto his back and then offered his hand to Livvy. She stared at it and took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. He handed her the saber, weary of a possible attack, but Livvy wasn't tense and still in a battle position. Still, a good Shadowhunter new what their enemies were looking for and how to fake it.

"I can see why you and Emma are at odds. You've got skill, I admit. But I'm still rooting for Emma."

Finn chuckled. "I'm fine with that. Emma deserves the title of 'The next Jace Herondale' more than me. I don't wanna be the next Herondale - or be compared to one, at least. I wanna be the first me. Being famous isn't in my game plan."

"Humble too? Aw, you and Emma would be great together. It's clear you can keep up with her, and no boy but Julian's ever been able to do that."

He laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

She glanced at her watch. "Okay, I have to go help Ty some more. Yell for me if anything awesomely exciting happens. It's been nice sparring with you, Finnegan!"

Livvy danced away to hang up her weapons and head for the library.

"Did Livvy say something?" Emma asked.

"Oh, nothing," Finn shrugged. "Just a congrats and some praise and going back to help Ty."

"Oh."

Emma still looked shaken, lost in her own thoughts. Finn was going to ask, but then a commotion burst out from downstairs. They all heard the sound of someone pounding on the front door, following by running feet.

Instinctively, the Shadowhunters dashed out the door in a flash.

-_**TTOT**_-

When Lock arrived at the spot Fae had told him that he'd be, he was surprised to find that it was an Institute - the L.A. Institute no less. What was even more surprising was that a portal appeared and out popped a tall, pale-haired man, wearing tight black pants and a shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, a plaid jacket hanging from his shoulders.

"Malcolm!" Veon called.

The warlock turned. "Oh! Zytaveon! I wasn't expecting _you_ here."

"You sound so disappointed. Am I _that_ ugly?!" he swooned dramatically, pretending to be as hurt as possible.

"Why yes," Malcolm said, mimicking Veon's tone. "It's just your _face_, why it pains me so! Your very presence is making me lightheaded. Watch it, I might throw up!"

"My face is _excellent_, excuse you."

Veon flipped his shaggy hair. Perhaps he should cut it soon; it was gonna reach his shoulders at this rate.

…

Nah.

"Anyway, in all seriousness, why you at the Shadowhunter Institute?"

"I have a brew to give to the Head," Malcolm said casually. "What about you, crocodile? Southern California is _my_ territory."

Malcolm always called Veon 'crocodile' ever since Veon had shared the story of how he had been the source of that whole rumor about crocodiles in the sewers thanks to his scales and his origin story about being thrown away as a child when his mother found out he was a demon's child - his scaled patches of skin being a dead giveaway. He had become an unexplainable monster to the mundanes, so of course they had turned it into a legend.

Malcolm Fade was the High Warlock of Los Angeles and overall had a great deal of influence over the southern half of California in general. By contrast, as the High Warlock of San Francisco, Veon had influence over the northern half of California. The two were already good friends in general and knew the warlock community well, sharing the burden as some of the older warlocks of the coastal state and therefore in charge of basically everything Shadow World related. Malcolm had only been the High Warlock of Los Angeles for a few years, but it hadn't been hard for him to get the job title with his power and skill.

It had been Malcolm and Veon that had first found out about the capturing of Magnus and the rest of the Downworld Council representatives by Sebastian, going first to Caterina and then to the rest of the Downworld to aid and unite them in the fight.

Veon had to admit that Malcolm was weird, obsessed with romance and happy endings - especially when it came to helping some of his clients in the film industry - but Veon found it amusing. He was a warlock that hadn't given up on the idea of true love, even as an immortal. Long ago, Malcolm had told Veon the story of how he had once fallen in love with a Shadowhunter, but she had left to become an Iron Sister. During a private meeting, Malcolm had admitted that he wasn't okay with her decision, though he had wanted to be fully supportive of her choice. Malcolm had said he wondered if it was really her choice, or if her family had pressured her into the choice. It would be just like the Shadowhunters to do such a thing, choose a life for their people without really asking for their opinion. At the time, Veon had already seen what the Nephilim had done to the Shadowhunter boy that he'd helped, taking away his passion in order to make him a better Shadowhunter - or whatever crap they had spouted to justify their sick ways. It was one of the only times that Malcolm ever showed how the weight of his long life was beginning to get to him, and a time when Veon and Malcolm had really bonded. After that, their partnership over California was set.

Warlocks, being the offspring of human beings and demons, were immortal, and stopped aging at different points in their lives, depending on their demon parents. Magnus, for example, stopped aging at about 19, Veon in his early twenties, and Malcolm looked as if he'd stopped aging at about 27, though he claimed to have been born in 1850. Thinking about how a warlock's parents met was far too complicated, and Malcolm himself didn't seem inclined to share. All Veon knew was that he'd been born in England, and he still retained traces of the accent.

Malcolm came off as serious and scary, though he was really an absent-minded professor type. He had been forgetting important things for almost two hundred years. He was a dork on the inside, goofy around his friends, but he was a powerful warlock nonetheless. He had an…_eccentric_ style, which was expected since Magnus liked him. Veon could rarely tell if Malcolm _intended_ to look the way he did sometimes or if he just made some kind of mistake getting ready in the morning. For example, today Veon couldn't tell if Malcolm was purposefully trying to look cool with his shirt half-buttoned up, or if he had literally just forgotten to do the rest of the buttons before he had left the house. Both were definitely possibilities with Malcolm Fade. If Veon wasn't mistaken, Malcolm's shoelaces were also tied together, but Veon didn't want to be rude and properly check.

"I was supposed to meet a friend at this location, but I hadn't realized it would be an _Institute_. Not to mention this Institute rather than the one in Frisco. I have something for them."

"Ah, so we're _both_ making house calls." Malcolm shook his head. "What a shame, the High Warlocks of California reduced to delivery boys."

"Warlocks do business to survive. Besides, what _else_ are we gonna do with our immortal existences?"

He shrugged. "Point. Being lazy can only be so amusing."

Malcolm rapped on the door to the Institute, pounding it hard enough to make the building echo with the booming sound.

"Just a minute!" a faint voice called from inside.

Malcolm stopped his assault of the door, satisfied at his work. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal Julian Blackthorn, looking surprised at Malcolm's appearance and processing his presence all at once.

"You look like a strip-o-gram," he declared bluntly.

"You can mail someone a stripper?" Malcolm looked bemused, then glanced down at himself. "Sorry, I forgot to button my shirt before I left the house."

"Well, that answers _that_ question," Veon muttered.

Julian looked to him and Veon could see the gears turning in his head. "Veon, right? High Warlock of San Francisco."

"Glad you remember me, Julian Blackthorn."

Malcolm took a step inside the Institute and instantly fell over, sprawling lengthwise on the tiles. Julian moved aside and Malcolm rolled onto his back, looking disgruntled. He peered down his long body to his feet.

"I seem to have also tied my shoelaces together."

Veon sighed in exasperation, but was laughing on the inside. These were the people he had to deal with, and they made his life so hilarious despite all the doom and gloom.

Julian looked slightly depressed at the fact that all the allies and friends in his life were either people he had to lie to, ridiculous, or both. Emma Carstairs came rushing down the staircase, Cortana in her hand. She was wearing jeans and a tank top, her damp hair pulled back in an elastic band and her tank top sticking to her skin. Julian averted his gaze upon seeing the sight for some reason. Veon would never understand how parabatai worked - especially those two. As Emma took in the situation, she slowed down and relaxed.

"Hey Malcolm. Why are you on the floor?"

"I tied my shoelaces together," he explained.

"Don't ask me how that happened," Veon said. "I don't even know anymore."

Emma had reached his side. She brought Cortana down, neatly severing Malcolm's shoelaces in half and freeing up his feet. "There you go."

Malcolm looked wearily at her. "She may be dangerous," he said to Julian. "Then again, _all_ women are dangerous."

"Got that right," Selina called from the second floor. "Really, _all_ people are dangerous." She jumped down and landed on her feet with a thud echoing across the marble room, right beside the group. "I assume this warlock is one of _your_ friends?" she asked Veon.

"Why? Just because he's a warlock?" he accused.

"Because he walked in here with a shirt half unbuttoned and his shoelaces knotted together - which he didn't realize until he hit the floor."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean? Are you saying I have only idiot friends? I mean, you'd be right, but still."

"Hey! I take offense to that," Malcolm protested from the floor.

"_Caterina_ isn't an idiot," Selina said. "_I_ certainly don't count. We're the most competent people you've ever encountered in this lifetime."

"Aw, you're saying you're my _friend?!_ How nice of you!" Veon crooned dramatically.

She rolled her eyes and shoved him. "Well, at least he's kinda cute. Clumsy, cute, magical, empathetic. You'd make a decent boyfriend if you manage not to tie your shoelaces together."

Veon snorted. "Yeah, if you're into that kind of thing."

"Most girls are. If I've probably studied human social cues correctly, oh mighty teacher."

"I assume he's here for you?" Finn asked, coming down the stairs.

"Well…sorta," Veon rolling his eyes and redirecting his attention. "I guess I could give this to you now, since I'm here. I didn't think this would be the Institute that you're at." He dug around his jacket pocket and pulled out a vial. "Careful. Once it takes effect you'll need my help for a counterspell. Otherwise, you'd need, like, _nuclear_ levels of magic to break it."

"And if it doesn't work?" she asked, staring at the vial carefully.

"I'll be first on the chopping block, my lady. You can come kill me for my insolence, or whatever you'd blame me for."

"What's that for?" Emma asked.

"Nothing you should concern yourself with, Emma," Selina declared, slipping the vial in the small bag at her hip. "You have your illegal activities, I have mine. I say nothing of your affairs, you say nothing of mine."

Julian looked at Veon, but he held his hands up innocently. "I don't kiss and tell, sweetheart. Besides, it's nothing _actually_ illegal. Just something you don't want the Clave knowing about. Let's just say she's got an issue that's more embarrassing than anything else."

"Is it a wart?" Malcolm asked.

"No! It's not a _wart!_" Selina snapped. "He _meant_ that it's a weakness that shouldn't get out or it'll be used by my enemies. Now it's not a problem, so just shut up and stop talking about it. Ugh, you…_people_ are so annoying."

"I'll try not to take offense from that," Malcolm said. "If she was saying what I think she was saying."

"Trust me, she probably wasn't," Veon commented.

"Oh, look at _you_ with your Shadowhunter girlfriend. Why wasn't I informed of this before?"

"She's _not_ my girlfriend." "I'm _not_ his girlfriend."

Veon and Selina glared at each other.

"Aw, so adorable! You _know_ I'm a sucker for a good love story. Why am I always the one left out on these things?"

"It's _not_ a love story!" the two of them snapped, but Malcolm was undeterred.

"Sure, sure."

"Back to the subject," Julian announced. "Why are _you_ here, Malcolm? Not that I'm not pleased to see you."

Malcolm staggered to his feet, buttoning his shirt. "Well, incidentally Veon and I had similar tasks, though the medicine I brought was for Arthur."

Julian tensed and Emma frowned. "Has Arthur not been feeling well?"

Malcolm, who had been reaching into his pocket, froze. Veon saw the realization dawn on his face that he'd said something he shouldn't and Veon internally sighed at Malcolm and his forgetfulness. He'd suffered from Malcolm's memory lapses in the past before and Malcolm had to have been cursed a thousand times for it. Though Veon didn't know why Arthur needing medicine was a bad thing, he knew that Malcolm had majorly screwed up, that was clear enough.

"Arthur told me last night he's been under the weather," Julian explained. "Just the usual stuff bothering him. It's chronic. Anyway, he was feeling low on energy."

"I would have looked for something at the Shadow Market if I'd known," Emma said, sitting down on the bottom step of the staircase and stretching out her long legs.

"In all honesty, the Shadow Market's probably a more reliable option than Malcolm," Veon sighed.

"Hey!"

The Shadow Market was known for being a sketchy place, especially for Shadowhunters during these times, and going to a High Warlock they trusted was definitely a better option for anything magical, so Finn and Selina were smiling at Veon's accusation.

"Cayenne pepper and dragon's blood," Malcolm declared, retrieving a vial from his pocket and proffering it to Julian. "Should wake him right up."

"That would wake the dead up," Emma said.

"Necromancy is illegal, Emma Carstairs," scolded Malcolm.

"What are you, a _faerie?_" Finn asked.

"Are all warlocks so literal?" Selina agreed. "By the angel, you can't talk to _anyone_ in the Shadow World with sarcasm."

"Sarcasm is more fun when you can take hyperbole literally," Veon said.

Julian pocketed the vial, keeping his gaze fixed on Malcolm and clearly begging him not to say anything.

"When did you have a chance to tell Malcolm that your uncle wasn't feeling well, Jules?" Emma inquired. "I saw you last night and you didn't say anything."

Julian, facing away from Emma, paled.

"I talked to him last night," Finn volunteered. "Julian was so exhausted after the trip and I asked him if I could help out. Believe it or not, I'm not _that_ useless. So he said to contact the High Warlock and ask him for some medicine for Arthur. I demanded that Julian go and get some rest, practically had to hold him at knifepoint to get him to go to sleep."

Julian started to slowly relax.

Emma nodded. "So _that's_ why you didn't come to my room last night."

"Sorry," Finn said. "But if you had something to say to him, it could wait until the morning."

She shook her head. "It's fine. You were right, he needed the rest. Thanks for looking out for him."

"Parabatai have to look after other parabatai. I mean, being bonded to a pain-in-the-ass best friend gets tiring sometimes."

Selina shoved him. "Love you too, parabro."

Finn rubbed his arm when she'd made contact. "See? I get more bruises from her than I do _any_ demon attack."

"Vampire pizza," Malcolm said randomly, out of the blue.

"What?" Emma asked.

"Nightshade's opened up an Italian place on Cross Creek Road," Malcolm said. "Best pizza for miles, and they deliver."

"Oh, a friend of mine told me about that!" Veon exclaimed. "I hear she's working there. Who would've thought that this is where vampires would end up?"

"Don't you worry about what's in the sauce?" Emma asked. "Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "That reminds me, Malcolm. I was wondering if there was something you'd look at."

"Is it a wart?" Malcolm asked, almost eagerly. "I can cure that, but it'll cost you."

"Why does everyone always think it's a wart? What _is_ it with you and warts?" Emma pulled her phone out and in a few seconds was showing him the photos of the body she'd found at the Sepulchre Bar. "There were these white markings here and there. They look like graffiti, not paint but chalk or something like that…"

"First, gross," Malcolm said. "Please don't show me pictures of dead bodies without a warning." He peered closer. "Second, those look like remnants of a ceremonial circle. Some sort of ritual."

"_Told_ you I knew what I was doing," Selina muttered.

"Someone drew a protective ring on the ground," Veon agreed. "Maybe to protect themselves while they were casting whatever nasty spell killed this guy."

"He was burned," Emma said. "And drowned, I think. At least, his clothes were wet and he smelled like salt water."

She was frowning, her eyes dark. Ever since her parents were found, their corpses left in the ocean, Emma had a fear of the sea. She could force herself into it, sick and shaking, but it was terrifying just to watch the strong Emma torn to shreds by the terror of something so primal and nameless she couldn't explain it even to herself. Julian, ever the loving parabatai, wanted to kill things, destroy things to keep her safe, even though she could keep herself safe, even though she was the bravest person he knew.

"Forward me the photos," Malcolm was saying. "I'll look them over more closely and let you know."

"We'll see if there's anything that matches these marks," Veon agreed.

"I can do this alone," Malcolm protested.

"Too bad. I'm invested now. Don't worry, I won't say anything. Mutual secrets, right?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "_Fine_, but don't expect me to welcome you into my home without a favor, Veon."

"I will watch _one_ movie of your choice."

"Three."

"Two."

"Deal."

"Hey!" Livvy appeared at the top of the stairs, having changed out of her training gear. "Ty found something. About the killings."

Malcolm looked puzzled.

"On the computer," Livvy elaborated. "You know, the one we're not supposed to have. Oh, hi Malcolm, Veon." She waved vigorously. "You guys should come upstairs."

"Would you two stay?" Emma asked, scrambling to her feet. "We could use your help."

"That depends," Malcolm said. "Does the computer play movies?"

"It can play movies," Julian confirmed cautiously.

Malcolm looked pleased. "Can we watch '_Notting Hill?_'"

"What's that?" Finn asked.

"Romantic comedy, British," Veon explained. "Very Malcolm."

"We can watch anything, if you're willing to help," Emma said. She glanced at Julian. "And we can find out what Ty discovered. You're coming, right?"

Julian looked like he was silently cursing Malcolm's love of romantic movies. He wished he could head to his studio and paint, but he couldn't exactly avoid Ty or abandon Malcolm.

"I could get snacks from the kitchen," Emma suggested, sounding hopeful.

After all, for years it had been their habit to watch old movies on their witchlight-powered TV, eating popcorn by the flickering illumination.

Julian shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Emma sighed. A moment later she disappeared after Livvy, up the stairs.

"Does this Institute have better tech than us?" Selina wondered. "It took us _ages_ to find a way to connect to the internet and hide the tech from everyone else in the Institute, but after that, Finn got _obsessed_ with YouTube and video games and music videos. It's a miracle he hasn't encountered the dangers of social media yet."

"Only one way to find out," Finn said.

The two of them hurried up the stairs to follow the others. Veon sighed and shook his head but made his way after then, his hands in his pockets as he ascended the stairs. Julian made as if to follow them, but Malcolm stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"It's gotten worse, hasn't it?" he said.

Veon stopped before he turned a corner to be out of sight. He didn't mean to eavesdrop (okay, so he _kinda_ did) but he found himself listening intently.

"Uncle Arthur?" Julian asked, sounding caught off guard. "I don't think so. I mean, it's not great that I haven't been here, but if we'd kept refusing to go to England, someone would have gotten suspicious."

"Not Arthur. You. Does she know about you?"

"Does who know what?"

"Don't be dense. Emma. Does she know?"

Julian paused for a long time, and when he finally spoke, he sounded like Malcolm had punched him in the gut with betrayal. "Stop."

"I won't. I like happy endings."

Julian spoke through gritted teeth. "Malcolm, _this is not a love story_."

"Every story is a love story."

Julian made his way to the stairs and Veon nearly left to avoid getting caught, but then Malcolm called his name and Julian turned back.

"Laws are meaningless, child," Malcolm said, his voice low. "There is nothing more important than love. And no law higher."

* * *

Technically, no Institute was supposed to have a computer in it. The Clave resisted the advent of modernity, but even more so any engagement with mundane culture.

But that had never stopped Tiberius.

He started asking for a computer at the age of ten so that he could keep up to date on violent mundane crimes, and when they'd come back from Idris, after the Dark War, Julian had given him one. Ty had lost his mother and father, his brother and sister, Julian had said at the time, sitting on the floor amid a tangle of wires, trying to figure out how to plug the computer into one of the few electrical outlets they had (almost everything in the Institute ran on witchlight). Ty deserved this, Julian had said. It had been Finnegan and Selina that had hooked him up with a computer and taught him how to use it. They had long since gone against their parents' orders before, managing to raise money to buy Finn a guitar, and when Finn wanted to learn new songs made by the mundanes, Selina had decided it was time for an upgrade.

"You plug it in right here," Selina showed Julian all those years ago. "The three prongs go into the three holes right there."

"Thanks for doing this."

"You deserve it," Selina said, using a witchlight-infused tablet of her own making to divert the witchlight into the electrical outlet. "_Ty_ deserves it. Your whole family does, Julian Blackthorn."

It was a miracle that they'd even been able to find the outlet, but Selina knew how to activate it thanks to experience from her own Institute. As far as anyone else was concerned, the computer was running on witchlight just like the rest of the Institute.

Now, Ty was indeed in love with the computer. He'd named it Watson and had spent hours teaching himself how to use it (Selina offered to come over every day to help him learn, but Ty was impatient). Julian told him not to do anything illegal and Arthur, locked away in his study, didn't notice anything. Livvy, ever dedicated to her sibling, had also learned how to use it. Together they were a formidable team.

Dru had spread maps all over the floor; Tavvy was standing by a whiteboard with a blue dry-erase marker, making possibly helpful notations, if they could ever be translated out of seven-year-old; Ty was seated at the swivel chair in front of the computer, his fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard; Livvy was perched on the desk, as she often was, while Ty worked around her, completely aware of where she was while at the same time focusing on the task at hand. In essence, they looked to have been busy.

"So, you found something?" Julian asked as they came in.

"Yes, just a second." Ty held up his hand imperiously. "You can talk to each other if you like."

Julian grinned. "That's very kind."

Cristina came hurrying in, braiding her damp, dark hair. She'd clearly showered and re-dressed, in jeans and a flowered blouse.

"Livvy told me-"

"Shh," Emma interrupted.

She put a finger to her lips and indicated Ty, staring intently at the computer's blue screen, lighting up his delicate features. She loved the moments when Ty was playing detective; he so clearly fell into the part, into the dream of being Sherlock Holmes, who always had the answers. Cristina nodded and sat down on the overstuffed loveseat beside Drusilla. Dru was nearly as tall as she was, despite being only thirteen, She was one of those girls whose body had grown up quickly: she had breasts and hips, was soft and curvy. It had led to some awkward moments with boys who thought she was seventeen or eighteen years old, and a few incidents were Emma had barely stopped Julian from murdering a mundane teenager.

"And who might you be?" Veon asked.

"I should ask you the same thing," Cristina said.

"Clearly not from California, then. Zytaveon, High Warlock of San Francisco - and Northern California in general - a personal friend of many things and people that the Clave does _not_ approve of - including the Blackthorn family and their affairs - as well as the Malcolm of the San Francisco Institute, with Scion and Dalmasca over there."

"This is Cristina Rosales," Selina introduced. "Nice girl, wise."

"Cristina's from the Mexico City Institute," Emma explained. "She's come on her travel year and will be staying with us."

"Interested in ending the Cold Peace," Finn added.

"Ah, so a fellow person with _sense!_" Veon exclaimed. "Good to know you, my lady."

Veon bowed dramatically and Cristina smiled. "Nice to meet _you_, good sir."

She took his hand and shook it, but Veon brought it up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Selina looked between them, a slightly nervous look in her eyes.

"Wow, never seen him so chivalrous," Finn muttered.

"He's chivalrous when he wants to be," Malcolm commented. "When he doesn't want to be? He's an asshole."

"Only to my dearest friends am I _ever_ an asshole," Veon corrected.

"I can't tell if I should be honored or take offense," Finn muttered.

"So, why'd you come to Los Angeles of all places?" Veon asked.

"Well, like Finnegan said, I'm not a supporter of the Cold Peace," Cristina explained. "In all honesty, I wanted to come here because of Mark and Helen Blackthorn."

"A true lady, caring about people no matter their blood. There need to be more good apples like you in the world."

"Okay, enough with the flirting," Selina complained.

"Jealous?" Finn asked.

"No," she said calmly. "Are _you?_"

"Why would _I_ be jealous?"

"I'm proving a point. I have about as much reason as you to be jealous right now as you do."

"Nice argument. For _now_."

Malcolm settled himself in a patched armchair. "Well, if we're waiting…" He began typing on his phone.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked.

"Ordering pizza from Nightshade's," said Malcolm. "There's an app."

"A what?" Dru asked.

"There _is?_" Veon exclaimed. "I gotta get that. But wait, Mal! Hold on, let me make a phone call." The scaled warlock pulled out his phone and hit a few buttons. "Hey…yeah, I know, but I have some friends who wanna make an order…if you come, I'll tip nicely. I'm 300 years old, honey. I tip well…yeah. Hold on." He moved his phone away from his mouth. "I've got a friend who'll give a discount. What'd you want?"

"Hold on, go back a few steps," Livvy interrupted. "Nightshade? The _vampire?_"

"He owns a pizza place," Malcolm explained. "The sauce is divine," he said, kissing his fingers.

"Aren't you worried what's in it?" Livvy asked.

"You Nephilim are so paranoid."

"You're just realizing this now?" Selina asked. "That's _literally_ the definition of a Shadowhunter: _paranoid_, _prejudice_, and _probably_ doing other useful too."

Ty cleared his throat, spinning his chair back around to face the room. Everyone had settled themselves on couches or chairs except Tavvy, who was sitting on the floor under the whiteboard.

"I've found some stuff," Ty announced. "There definitely have been bodies that fit Emma's description. Fingerprints sanded off, soaked in seawater, skin burned." He pulled up the front page of a newspaper on-screen. "Mundanes think it's satanic cult activity, because of the chalk markings found around the bodies."

"Mundanes think _everything_ is satanic cult activity," Malcolm said. "Must cults are actually in service of completely different demons than Lucifer."

"He's quite famous and very hard to reach," Veon said. "It's like trying to get help for your wifi or something - put on hold for _days!_ Rarely does favors for anyone. Really an unrewarding demon to worship. I once found these cultists that were worshiping my _father_. Ugh, ever had a cult worshiping your dad who get, like 90% of it wrong?"

"Sounds rough," Finn muttered. "My father's a demon too, but he's not in any cult. At least, I _think_ so."

"Careful," Veon smirked. "I mean, it's not out of the realm of possibility…"

Selina knocked him on the back of the head. "Ignore him."

Emma and Julian exchanged looks of amusement. Ty clicked the computer mouse, and pictures flashed up on the screen. Faces - different ages, races, genders. All of them slack in death.

"There are only a few murders that match the profile." Ty seemed pleased to be using the word 'profile.' "There's been one every month for the past year. Twelve counting the one Emma found, like she said."

"But nothing before a year ago?" Emma clarified.

Ty shook his head.

"So, there was a gap of four years since my parents were killed. Whoever it was - if it was the same person - stopped and started up again."

"Something happening once per month might be related to the moon and/or the tides," Selina pointed out. "Trust me, I know them well."

"Is there anything that links all these people?" Julian asked. "Diana said some of the bodies were fey."

"Well, this is all _mundane_ news," Livvy pointed out. "They wouldn't know, would they? They'd think the bodies were human, if they were gentry fey. As for anything linking them, none of them have been identified."

"That's where we can help," Finn announced. "My informant has given me a list of potential fey that have gone missing. There are no confirmations and the list of potentials were mostly made from rumors. They were faeries that no one but people close to them could ever miss, but there _were_ a couple instances of a few gentry going missing, though it's been kept under wraps."

"So no connection between the rank of the faerie victimized?" Emma concluded.

"More like they began trying this thing on nobodies who wouldn't be missed, but they found that the gentry had something special about them," Selina corrected. "These victims are experiments, the caster doesn't know which person will beget a successful result and they're beginning to narrow their search. But why the four year gap?"

"Emma, your parents were the first victims, right?" Finn asked. She nodded. "That means something happened in the war that revealed the making of this ritual, your parents were probably the first experiments before the caster realized that they couldn't just sacrifice any old person. Imagine it: someone looking to do the impossible with magic suddenly finds an opportunity thanks to the chaos that the Dark War provided - maybe someone gave them a spell, maybe they found it by accident, or maybe they had been searching specifically for what they needed for a while and finally found it. They get excited, use the first people they see as the sacrifices, and then find out the hard way that it isn't so simple."

Emma's scowl deepened. "So my parents were just thrown away for _nothing?_ Killed for no reason at all because this idiot got trigger happy?"

"I'm sorry, Emma. I can't put myself in your shoes, but I _can_ say that it's hard not knowing what happened to someone you love who…left you."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault. But now we need to avenge them more than ever."

"This stuff is dark magic, but the only things that would require sacrifices are necromancy - basically a life for a life - the summoning of demons, the gaining of power from the culmination of multiple people's energy, etc.," Selina explained. "There are limited possibilities, but plenty nonetheless. From these pictures alone, it could be _anything_, but it's bad, that's for sure. If I could just get my hands on one of them…"

"The Clave will get suspicious if we reveal that we're interested in this," Finn said. "Directly asking to see the body won't work."

"Ugh, if only _I_ had been the one to find it. Just one moment and I would've gotten _so_ much info…"

"What about blood?" Dru suggested. "In movies they can identify people using blood and DTR."

"DNA," Ty corrected. "Well, according to the newspapers none of the bodies were identified. It could have been that whatever spells were done on them altered their blood. Or they could have decayed fast, like Emma's parents did. That would have limited what the coroners could have found out."

"There _is_ something else, though," Livvy said. "The stories all reported where the bodies were found, and we mapped them. They have one thing in common."

Ty had taken one of his hand toys out of his pocket, a mass of intermingled pipe cleaners, and was untangling it. Ty had one of the fastest-working minds of anyone else Finn had ever seen, and it calmed him to have a way to use his hands to diffuse some of that quickness and intensity. There was probably some fancy name made of a few letters that described it - ADD, ADHD, OCD, or something like that. The Blackthorns seemed to have whatever it was under control, so Finn didn't prod.

"The bodies have all been dumped at ley lines. All of them," Ty explained, and they could hear the excitement in his voice.

"Ley lines?" Dru furrowed her brow.

"There's a network, circling the world, of ancient magical pathways," Malcolm explained. "They amplify magic, so for centuries, Downworlders have used them to create entrances into Faerie, that sort of thing."

"Alicante is built on a convergence of ley lines," Veon continued. "They're invisible, but some can train themselves to sense them."

Malcolm frowned, staring at the computer screen, where one of the images Cristina had taken of the dead body at the Sepulchre was displayed. "Can you do that thing? You know, where you make the picture bigger?"

"Zoom in," Finn translated.

Before Malcolm could answer, the doorbell of the Institute rang. It was no ordinary, shrilling doorbell. It sounded like a gong being struck through the building, shivering the glass and stone and plaster.

"Yay! It's here!" Veon announced. "One of you Nephilim come with me! I need one of you idiots to open the door!"

He rushed out of the room.

"I'll go," Emma volunteered quickly.

She sprinted after Veon and hurried downstairs, even as Julian half-rose from his seat to follow her.

"Don't," Finn quickly said, grabbing Julian's arm. "She needs a moment alone to process all this. She's been pursuing this case for many years, but she's finally getting answers. Someone did these things, someone tortured and killed her parents, carved evil markings on their skin and dumped them in the ocean to rot. Someone took Emma's childhood, tore away the roof and walls of the house of her life, leaving her cold and exposed. You don't just brush that off. Emma's filled with revenge right now, it's surging through her veins, overtaking her. But it's not just the revenge. She needs to…she needs to learn how to _breathe_ again, she feels revenge will give her the air back in her lungs. Revenge will help her think about her parents without a cold knot in her stomach, dream without seeing their drowned faces and hearing their voices cry out for her help. I know because I've been there. But I never learned the truth."

Julian stared at him, long and hard.

"Forget it," Finn said. "Look, Julian - no, _all_ of you. You need to keep Emma from destroying herself with revenge. You think things'll get better once your vengeance has gone through, once you finally know the truth, you think this weight will be lifted off your shoulders. But nothing changes. The empty hole in your heart isn't just suddenly filled. Vengeance isn't the _key_ to recovering; it's the vengeance itself that _prevents_ you from recovering. But recovering is painful; it's a long, slow, insidious burn. We like to believe that revenge is a faster route to being okay again, but it's just a more flashy way of delaying the inevitable road of pain. Don't let her be lost. Having the hot head that she does will result in a lot of mistakes. No offense to Emma, but revenge makes you blind and stupid."

"Well, Jace Herondale is _known_ for his stupid decisions," Selina muttered. "She really _is_ destined to be the next Jace. But Finn? Now Finn's just himself. His crazy, weird, introverted, weird, bold, weird, dangerous, weird self."

"Don't forget _weird_, Selina," Finn deadpanned. "I thought you were supposed to be my parabatai. How _dare_ you forget the _weird_ part?"

There was a round of laughter among the others.

"I think you're fine as you are, Finnegan," Julian assured him. "I hope I can count on you to help out with Emma too. We've all got our scars, but Emma's got a lot of weight on her shoulders."

"No one ever listens to warnings about vengeance, so I guess she'll just have to find out herself."

"You know what I wanna find out?" Malcolm asked. "Why it's taking them so long to get us that pizza."

"Nevermind," Selina said. "Let's just compare notes about this case, Malcolm."

-**_TTOT_**-

The sun had just set, and so vampires were allowed to be out now. When Emma threw open the front door of the Institute, a glum vampire stood in the doorway, carrying several stacked boxes. He looked like a teenager with short brown hair and freckled skin, but that didn't mean much.

"Pizza delivery," he said in a tone that suggested that most of his closest relatives had just died.

"Seriously?" Emma said. "Malcolm wasn't making that up? You really deliver pizza?"

He looked at her blankly. "Why _wouldn't_ I deliver pizza?"

Emma fumbled at the small table near the door for the cash they usually kept there. "I don't know. You're a vampire. I figured you'd have something better to do with your life. Your unlife. Whatever."

The vampire looked aggrieved. "You know how hard it is to get a job when your ID says you're a hundred and fifty years old and you can only go out at night?"

"No," Emma admitted, taking the boxes. "I hadn't considered that."

"Nephilim never do."

He tucked a fifty into his jeans.

"Believe it or not, hon, even vampires need money," Veon said. "Not sure why pizza was the go-to option for Nightshade, but hey, whatever works."

"Hey! Got the rest!" a voice piped up. Veon looked out the door to see Pyre holding another myriad of boxes of pizza. "Hey Ve. You promised a big tip. Pay up. Can I come in, Shadowhunter lady?"

"She's a friend of mine, it's okay," Veon said.

Pyre hopped through into the Institute with the boxes of pizza. "You can head back, Charlie. I got this."

"If you get in trouble, I better not be blamed," Charlie warned.

"As if. Lily put in a good word to Nightshade and all of the others can vouch for me. Also, pay up, Ve."

He dug around his pocket and passed over ten fifties that he just…_had_ in his pocket. _For some reason!_ Warlocks, man.

"Why did _we_ have to pay for this again?" Emma demanded.

"Because you Nephilim have nothing better to do with your money, meanwhile I work hard for my fortune."

Pyre balanced her stack of pizzas in one hand while separating the bills in her hand. She stuck the bills in her pocket and then her hand came out with two fifties still in her grip.

She passed the money to Charlie. "If someone gives you shit, bribe 'em. If no one gives you shit, the money's yours. Deal?"

Charlie accepted the money and stuffed it in his pocket. Meanwhile, Emma noticed that he was wearing a gray T-shirt that said **TMI** across the front.

"Too much information?" she asked.

He brightened. "The Mortal Instruments. They're a band. From Brooklyn. You heard of them?"

"Yeah, I have a friend in New York that I visit and learned about them from," Veon answered.

Well, it was sorta true. Veon had _many_ friends in New York, and Simon Lewis (now Lovelace) had been a part of The Mortal Instruments - he had named it in the first place during his memory loss and mundane-ness. Clary's best friend and parabatai had named the band after the three most holy objects in the Shadowhunter world. Fun. Veon had wondered how Simon felt about the band going on without him, about _everything_ going on without him, now that he was a Shadowhunter.

As Veon and Pyre talked on their way back to the others, Emma's mind was lost with thoughts of Clary and the others in the New York Institute. Simon had been Clary's best friend for her whole life, like Jules had been Emma's. Then they had been parabatai, once Simon was a Shadowhunter. What had changed? Emma wondered. What did it feel like to go from best friend to parabatai without having always known you were going to do it, how was it different? And why didn't she know the answer to that herself?

When they arrived back in the room, Malcolm was standing near the desk, violet eyes snapping. "You see, it's not a protection circle at all."

"There are many options about what it could be," Selina said. "A summoning circle, a magical transfer rune - not a Shadowhunter rune, but a magical rune in general - or maybe an energy gathering symbol, or some secret code, or-"

"It's pizza!" Malcolm announced, having been distracted by Emma and Veon's return.

"It can't be pizza," Ty said, staring perplexedly at the screen.

His long fingers had nearly untangled all the pipe cleaners - when he was done, he'd tangle them back up and start again.

"All right, enough," Julian announced. "We're taking a break from killings and profiles for dinner." He took Emma's pizza boxes, shooting her a grateful look, and set them down on the coffee table. "I don't care what you all want to talk about, it just can't involve murder or blood. Any blood."

"But it's _vampire_ pizza," Livvy pointed out.

"Immaterial," Julian declared. "Couch. Now."

"Can we watch a movie?" Malcolm piped up, sounding remarkably like Tavvy.

"We can watch a movie. Now, Malcolm, I don't care if you _are_ the High Warlock of Los Angeles, sit your butt down."

"Finally, _someone_ says it," Veon muttered. "Oh, by the way, this is Pyre, she's a vampire, deal with it."

"Hey all," Pyre greeted. "While we're having a slumber party, can I invite my friend Wolf?"

-**_TTOT_**-

"This is _amazing_," Selina exclaimed. "You _sure_ there isn't anything sketchy in the sauce?"

"Who _cares?_" Finn said. "Mouse heads, stewed people parts, whatever. It's delicious."

It had crispy crust and just the right amount of fresh mozzarella. Emma sucked the cheese off her fingers and made faces at Julian, who had excellent table manners. Finn ate his pizza delicately, balancing the slices on his fingertips and trying to avoid getting anything on his fingers, while Selina was digging in without much care about what she got on herself. Hey, no one ever said that parabatai had to eat pizza the same way (oddly enough the boys were cautious while the girls were careless).

The film was much more puzzling. It appeared to be about a man who owned a bookstore and was in love with a famous woman, except they recognized none of them and weren't sure if they were supposed to. Only Veon had seen the movie before, and only because Malcolm had made him as well as their other warlock friends watch it - Cat had been supportive, Ragnor had read a book through the whole thing, Magnus had been distracted but had at least _tried_ to focus on the movie, and Veon had sat on the couch upside down feeling bad for them when bad things happened and only ever flipping over rightside up when the two finally got together.

Pyre was sitting on Wolf's lap while the Wolf ate pizza and talked to Pyre, Cristina watched in large-eyed bafflement, Ty put his headphones on and closed his eyes, Veon was upside down on the couch again, Finn and Selina were sprawled on the floor, and Dru and Livvy sat on either side of Malcolm, patting him gently while he wept.

"Love is beautiful," he said while the man on screen ran through traffic.

"That's not love," Julian said, leaning back against the couch. The flickering light from the screen played over his skin, making it seem unfamiliar, adding frecklings of darkness to the smooth, pale places and lighting the shadows under his cheekbones, at the hollow of his throat. "That's movies."

"I came to Los Angeles to bring back love," Malcolm said, his dark violet eyes mournful. "All great movies are about love. Love lost, found, destroyed, regained, brought, sold, dying, and being born."

"You have a point," Finn admitted. "Hey, I'm a sucker for a good love story too. _Everything_ is about love, and who doesn't wanna believe their love lives will work out?"

"I love movies, but they've forgotten what they're about. Explosions, effects, that wasn't what it meant when I first got here. It was about lighting cigarette smoke so it looked like heavenly fire and lighting women so they looked like angels." Malcolm sighed. "I came here to bring true love back from the dead."

"Oh, Malcolm," Drusilla said, bursting into tears. Livvy handed her a napkin from the pizza place. "Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

"I'm straight," Malcolm said, looking surprised.

"It's _amazing!_" Veon exclaimed, throwing his hands up (which was actually down since he was lying upside down on the couch) in exasperation. "200 plus years and he's still _straight!_ There'll be one day that you'll get bored with women and become bisexual like the rest of us, Malcolm. One day."

"Besides, teenage girls always love a homosexual love story between guys," Selina pointed out. "Mostly because guys rarely ever let their pride go with stuff like that. If they do, suddenly they're wimpy or less respectable. Girls? Well girls can be anything they want to, but a _guy_ loving another _guy?_ Unheard of! See _this_ is why I like faeries. They don't give a damn about genders. Heterosexuals only exist to procreate. There's enough procreating in this world, and even with low Nephilim numbers, there's always that Ascension thing, right?"

"Girls are _just_ as manly as guys," Finn said. "Especially in the Shadow World. In any case, people don't choose their sexuality, Ve."

"No, we don't," he admitted. "But with an immortal lifespan, sometimes opinions evolve. You live a couple hundred years and _then_ you can lecture me on how sexuality isn't something we choose. Oh wait! You're already bi so that wouldn't be a problem."

"Thanks for announcing it to the entire Blackthorn family, Cristina, Pyre and Wolf, Malcolm, and probably a bunch of eavesdropping bugs. Hell, with our luck there's a hidden microphone in here and someone's posting this on YouTube right now."

"YouTube?" Emma asked.

"Finn is more cultured than someone," Selina crooned. "I'm so _proud_. Little boy's all grown up!"

He shoved her away.

"Well, all right, then a girlfriend," Dru continued. "Malcolm should find a nice Downworlder girl, maybe a vampire, so she'll live forever."

"Immortal-mortal relationships are hard," Wolf called.

"Hey, what about a Nephilim?" Finn protested.

"I find Magnus and Alec a cute pair," Veon agreed.

"Leave Malcolm's love life alone, Dru," Livvy said.

"True love is hard to find," Malcolm said, gesturing at the people kissing on screen.

"_Movie_ love is hard to find," Julian corrected. "Because it's not real."

"What do you mean?" Cristina asked. "Are you saying there is no true love? I don't believe that."

"Love isn't chasing someone to the airport." He leaned forward, the edge of his parabatai Mark on his collarbone, escaping above the neck of his T-shirt. "Love means you see someone, that's all."

"You see them?" Ty echoed, sounding dubious.

He'd turned the music down on his player, but his headphones were still on, his black hair scrunched up around them.

"I get it," Finn said. "Love means you see someone for who they truly are, there's no lying or faking it. It means that you see the darkest sides of someone and still love them anyway. It means you would walk to the edge of the world for them, make compromises, be willing to do things for their sake. But it also means being brutally honest and admitting when you don't like something, it means disagreements and hardships. What matters is that you get past all that stuff, you love each other enough to be unafraid of hurting each other's feelings. It means that you fight for each other each and every day, you're with them even when you're not with them, and you apologize a million times for every little mistake but you're forgiven before you've even opened your mouth. You'll make mistakes, you'll totally screw up sometimes, and the world will try to tear you apart by any means necessary - bad luck, tough choices, peer pressure, time, danger, laws, and more. Sometimes it'll get hard, but true love means that none of it matters so long as you go forward together."

Julian took hold of the remote. The movie had ended; white credits scrolled across the screen. "When you love someone, they become a part of who you are. They're in everything you do. They're in the air you breathe and the water you drink and the blood in your veins. Their touch stays on your skin and their voice stays in your ears and their thoughts stay in your mind. You know their dreams because their nightmares pierce your heart and their good dreams are your dreams too. And you don't think they're perfect, but you know their flaws, the deep-down truth of them, and the shadows all their secrets, and they don't frighten you away; in fact you love them more for it, because you don't want perfect, you want _them_. You want-"

He broke off then, as if he realized everyone was looking at him

"You want what?" Dru asked with enormous eyes.

"Nothing," Julian dismissed. "I'm just talking." He shut off the TV and picked up the pizza boxes - which they had all miraculously finished. "I'm going to throw these away."

He left.

Dru watched him go. "When he falls in love, it's going to be like…wow."

"Of course then we'll probably never see him again," Livvy said. "Lucky girl, whoever she'll be."

Ty's brow drew together. "You're joking, right? You don't mean we'll actually never see him again?"

"Absolutely not," Selina declared. "No one, no matter how much Julian loved them, would ever tear him away from you guys."

When Ty was much younger, he'd been puzzled by the way people talked and the way they exaggerated to make a point. Phrases like 'raining cats and dogs' had caused him annoyance - and sometimes a small amount of betrayal, since he liked cats and dogs a great deal more than he liked rain. At one point, Julian had begun a series of silly drawings for him, showing the literal meaning of phrases and then the figurative ones. Ty had giggled at the illustrations of cats and dogs falling out of the sky and people having their socks knocked off, as well as the bubble pictures of animals and people explaining what the idioms really meant. After that, he was often to be found in the library, looking up expressions and their meanings, committing them to memory. Ty didn't mind having things explained to him, and he never forgot what he'd been taught, but he preferred teaching himself.

It reminded Finn of Fae, actually. The faerie, especially back when they'd first met, took everything literally and got genuinely confused when it came to hyperbolic statements. His confusion had made Finn laugh on more than one occasion, especially with Lock and his more…flippant mouth to contrast Fae. Even with all the progress he'd made, there were still times that he liked to be reassured that an exaggeration was an exaggeration, even if he was 90% sure of it.

Livvy, who knew better than anyone the anxiety that imprecise language could cause her brother, scrambled to her feet and went over to him. She put her arms around him, her chin against his shoulder. Ty leaned against her, his eyes half-lidded. Ty liked physical affection when he was in the mood for it, as long as it wasn't too intense - he liked having his hair ruffled and his back patted or scratched.

Sometimes, he reminded them of Church, Jem's cat who he'd left with Emma - and the Blackthorns by association - since she was a Carstairs like him. Jem had signed his note as Brother Zachariah, and they hadn't understood why a Silent Brother would have a cat, but Clary had confirmed it. Not to mention the cat was immortal thanks to some shenanigans, so yeah. He always seemed to know where everyone was at any time, once serving as a guide at the New York Institute. The cat was far more intelligent than he seemed, but since he still lacked the ability to talk in English, most were pretty confused by him. Church didn't stay where he was put, being immortal had to do that to you, and so he escaped the Institute for days and even weeks at a time, but he always came back, looking sleeker and more self-satisfied than ever. When Emma had turned fourteen, the cat had started to return with presents for her tied to his collar: shells and pieces of sea glass. Emma put the shells on her windowsill, while the sea glass had become Julian's good-luck bracelet. By then, Emma knew the presents were from Jem, but she had no way of reaching him to thank him. Instead, she did her best to take care of Church. There was always dry cat food left out for Church in the entryway, and clean drinking water. They were happy to see him when he showed up, and not worried when he didn't.

Light flared. Cristina had gotten up and flicked the witchlight back on. Brightness expanded to fill the room as Julian came back in and looked around. Whatever composure he'd lost was back.

"It's late. Bedtime. Especially for you, Tavvy."

"Hate bedtime," Tavvy declared, who was sitting in Malcolm's lap, playing with a toy the warlock had given him. It was square and purple and sent off bright sparks.

"That's the spirit of the revolution," Julian responded. "Malcolm, Veon, thanks. I'm sure we'll be needing your help again."

"I guess it's time to take our leave," Wolf said. "Nice seeing you, Shadowhunters."

Pyre grabbed Lock and whispered something into his ear that the others couldn't hear and probably didn't even notice. "Believe it or not, we came here for a reason…"

She whispered a message into Veon's ear quick as she could. After a few moments, Pyre pulled back and acted as though nothing had happened.

"Well, time to go!"

She pulled Wolf with her out the door, the two of them heading out.

Malcolm set Tavvy gently aside and stood up, brushing pizza dust from his rumpled clothes and picking up his discarded jacket before heading out into the hallway with Veon, Emma and Jules following him. "Well, you know where to find me," he said, zipping the jacket up. "I was going to talk to Diana tomorrow about-"

"Diana can't know," Emma interjected.

Malcolm looked puzzled. "Can't know about what?"

"That we're looking into this," Julian said, cutting Emma off. "She doesn't want us involved. Says it's dangerous."

Malcolm looked disgruntled. "You could have mentioned that before. I don't like keeping things from her."

"Sorry," he said, his expression smooth, fairly apologetic. Once again, Julian was both impressive and frightening with how well he could lie. He was an expert liar when he wanted to be, no shadow of what he really felt would touch his face. "We can't go much further with this without help from the Clave and the Silent Brothers anyway."

"All right." Malcolm looked at them both closely, Emma clearly trying to match Julian's poker face to the best of her ability. "As long as you talk to Diana about this tomorrow." He shoved his hands into his pockets, the light gleaming off his colorless hair. "There _is_ one thing that I didn't get a chance to tell you. Those markings around the body that Emma found, they weren't for a protective spell."

Emma's brow furrowed. "But you said-"

"I changed my mind when Selina and I got a closer look. They're not protective runes, they're _summoning_ runes. She was dead on the money with that hunch of hers. Someone's using the energy of the dead bodies to summon. These aren't failed experiments for the sacrifices though, each and every one of them is being put together for a single purpose, gathering the energy all together to summon something equal to the loss of life."

"To summon what?" Julian dared to ask.

Veon shook his head. "Something to this world. A demon, an angel, we're still unsure. We'll look at the photos more, ask around the Spiral Labyrinth discreetly."

"So if it was a summoning spell, was it successful or unsuccessful?" Emma asked.

"Well, Selina was right about that part. A spell like that? If it was successful, believe me, you'd know."

* * *

**Chapter title: "_Bubbly_" by Colbie Caillat**


	3. A Steady Place to Let Down My Defenses

**I have this big and actual plot with my OCs that makes sense and is actually pretty basic when you boil it down, just getting there is taking SOOOOO long because I'm following Lady Midnight and I can't just _stop_. I'm ahead in writing this and even then I haven't reached the divergent story part where I go 'And while all this shit is happening with the Blackthorns, here is the plot that's all mine!' Plus I just need a mental break, I just finished a musical because I hate sleep and productivity, so here ya go world! Plus I have another puppy (adorable little fluffball) that I have to, ya know, pay attention to, making sure she doesn't kill herself or eat her own poop and gets fed and gets played with. The usual.**

**If you've ever read The Five of Them (But Really Only Two) - which isn't really necessary considering it's just me rambling on about stuff that is only mildly important to this part of the story, then yeah, some things get a bit crazy because they weren't mentioned in that story. Just shhhhh, it makes sense, I promise. Everything is explained by the statement 'because it is.'**

**Bit of a warning, I haven't edited this. Sooooo…deal with it?**

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Selina was working late into the night. Her witchlight was glowing with a soft lavender thanks to her Astral origins. She could make it glow white if she wanted to, but she enjoyed using her powers. It made her feel more in touch with who she was. After so many years as a Shadowhunter, being free as the elements like a faerie was like a breath of fresh air to her. Besides, if she was going to have to lock her Astral side away next time she encountered Fae, she might as well enjoy this while it lasted. She had her window open, allowing the moonlight to flood through and invigorate her. A part of her just wanted to fly away, back to the sky with the moon, and relax. Instead, she started drawing an image to try and recreate the runes that she had seen on the bodies, but quickly got distracted and started drawing a moon in all of its delicate features. She could almost _feel_ the power of the moon, what it was like to _be_ the moon. She could smell the tides in the distance and could feel the salt water on her skin. She felt the push and pull of the ocean against the shore, started to sway to its rhythm. She wanted to go for a swim. It had been a while, after all.

"_Hello? _Hello! _Woman, get a grip! I've been here for ten minutes!_"

She looked down at the small voice. A fat, blue-furred, yellow-eyed cat with a squashed-in face and tucked-in ears of the blue Persian Longhair breed stared up at her. She glared down as the cat stared but didn't say anything, though it seemed to be glaring at her. Thanks to her Astral origins, she could understand the cat, not that Church was a very nice cat to chit chat to.

"What?" she demanded. "_What?_ Gonna just stare at me in awe?"

"_Follow me_," the cat meowed in a bored tone.

He walked off without waiting for a response. Selina huffed but followed the feline through the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door. The moon was high and bright, reflecting off the water in the distance, and Selina got mesmerized by the sight. She often felt a longing to go home whenever she saw the moon like that, but she knew she had to stay. They crossed the highway, Selina unconcerned about the cat's well being both because of the fact that it was immortal and knew what it was doing but also because it was night time and the flow of traffic had somewhat diminished.

When dropped, Church often laid on his back with all four legs in the air, pretending to be dead in order to induce guilt within his owners. Selina had an appreciation for the mischievous cat, but that didn't mean they necessarily got along very well. She and many of the cat gods had an on-off relationship, after all. Selina still wasn't fully convinced Church wasn't actually a cat Astral in disguise.

Church led her down to the shoreline, leading her along the water's edge. She stepped into the salt water where the moon's reflection almost made a path to the horizon. It actually _was_ a path, if Lunarians were involved, but Selina resisted the strong urge to wander home, even just for a few minutes. She might want to stay for a few _more_ minutes, and the time there was just as wonky as with Faerieland - there was no telling if a few minutes would be only a few seconds or if it would be a few weeks back down on the surface world. It was a peaceful night, the surf slow and shallow, quieter than the wind. Occasionally Church would make a run for a sand crab, but he always came back, trotting just ahead of Selina, toward the northern constellations.

Finally the cat stopped. "_We're here. Peace out. I've got stuff to do_."

The cat sauntered away, prissy as ever, and Selina wondered who had used Church to summon her. She looked up at the moon. The only Astrals that would come were fellow Lunarians, Hydraeans, maybe an Archaean, something like that. Especially down here by the shore. She wasn't surprised when she felt the air shift and heard a familiar voice call out.

"Seline."

She looked up at a tall woman in white, giving off a light blue aura. She glowed just like the moon behind her, standing as tall as the horizon as though she was made up of the moon's reflection in the water, which she probably was. Her hair was brown today, braided in a fishtail hanging at her side. She looked semi-formal this time, with a silk white blouse and brown pants with golden wedge heels. Around her forehead was a circlet symbolizing her status as chief hunter, while a deadly bow and quiver were slung over her shoulder cross-body.

"Artemis," Seline said calmly. "What do you want?"

"Nice to see you too, dear sister." Her voice was soft yet hard, almost shimmering through the air. "Why else would I have come but to warn you?"

"Of what?"

"The coming storm." She turned to walk across the water, the moonlight following her path. "I had to come to you now, before you took that elixir that will strip you of your Astral status, even if it is temporary. I would be unable to contact you. It is important."

It was a well-known fact that the Astrals weren't allowed to interact with humans, unless they've hidden their identities. Even then, there were some instances where it was specifically forbidden because of the person or the circumstances. There was a nervous edge in Artemis's voice - well, as nervous as Artemis would ever let herself become. When Artemis got worried about something, it was best to listen to her. She was sister to the Helian Apollo, an Astral known in Greek mythology as a bearer of prophecies. The Greeks neglected to mention that Artemis herself has prophetic powers, she just doesn't advertise it as often. She doesn't have direct prophecies, but her sense of intuition was top notch and never wrong. If she was worried about something, then you listened to her.

"Shoot. Start explaining," Seline said.

"Something is on the horizon, something that even I cannot see. I close my eyes…and there is only _blackness_." She looked up to the sky, to the moon behind her. "I have come to tell you that you must be careful. I know I cannot change your mind about this excursion, but you must…you _must_ know." She turned to look at Selina over her shoulder. "Phoenix…the _Infernians_ are all infected. You know what happens when an Infernian gets the Scourge, you _saw_ what happened during that war - you saw what happened when _Ifrit_ was infected." She was careful with the word Ifrit, the simple invocation of the name enough to cause any amount of havoc. "The chaos that he unleashed, the _darkness_. So little time has passed, and yet we have failed to make any progress in recovering."

"I _know_ about the war, Artemis," Selina said lightly. "I was there."

"You know little compared to the higher-ups. With Ifrit of the Hexatheon infected, we don't know what will happen to his descendants. Every Astral of the Infernian line has the possibility of containing the virus as well - he was the source of them all. You have seen it, Phoenix is infected. There is a high chance that Brynhildr and her husband are as well."

"Phoenix was infected because of a witch, I know which one - the father of my parabatai. The Infernian line isn't soiled just because of Ifrit, it _can't_ be."

"And why were _you_ unaffected? You have more contact with this witch than Phoenix, and even _you_ see little of the creature."

"I don't know. Maybe he doesn't suspect me, maybe I'm better hidden."

"Phoenix has not yet emerged, he has not his memories, and you claim he is more obvious than you? Do not be foolish, Seline."

"I _met_ with Brynhildr, okay? I saw her not long ago. We had a short encounter, but she wasn't infected."

"She and her husband are strong-willed. But something has changed within them, you must admit. Perhaps their idea of darkness, of _madness_, isn't what we think it is. Perhaps for them, the Scourge manifests only in that terrifying calm."

"That's a stretch."

"Is it really? We all know Brynhildr is special. In any case, that is what the Hexatheon has deemed is the case. All Infernian blood is to be avoided at this time, and there are rumors that Ifrit himself is still out there."

Selina tensed. The idea that he could still be out there meant the entire world would be in danger - everything she held dear was threatened, all the people she had come to care for, every sense of security shattered. "He died."

"Did he _really?_ Phoenix and Brynhildr were there, they fought him and defeated him in a grand battle, dying in the process, and yet they are back - both from the same family, no less. They are reborn. A bit…unstable, but reborn. Who's to say Ifrit himself didn't return as well?"

Selina took a deep breath. "Okay, okay…look, I can't just _abandon_…"

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "You _abhor_ Phoenix, you always have, ever since I've known you. It wasn't long after you first became an Astral, when you first learned about Phoenix - at first, you were smitten with the bird. You learned of him, spoke with him, repeatedly visited him, _loved_ him. But something happened that you refuse to speak of. Your heart was broken, and ever since then, you've spent your entire existence resenting him. Why would you…_protect_ him now? Why would he be worth saving in your eyes, of _all_ eyes?"

Selina shook her head. "I _don't_ think Phoenix is worth saving," she declared firmly. "I still hate him as I always have. But Fae? _Fae_ is worth saving. Whatever you want to call him, I believe that _this_ incarnation, _this_ rebirth…for better or worse, he's different. I believe that _Fae_ is worth saving."

"I see." She sighed. "Just be careful, Seline. I don't…you _know_ what you are."

Seline rolled her eyes. She'd had this conversation a hundred times before, she dreaded the topic even as it haunted her every moment of her existence. "I _know_, Artemis. I…I get it. I'm the youngest, all right? I need to choose a successor. I'm…working on it."

As the youngest Lunarian of her line, Seline was tasked with passing on the blessing of a Lunarian to a successor - that was how the Lunarian line continued to grow. All Astrals had this system, a long chain of their kind developing through the choosing of a worthy subordinate or through having a child with another Astral. It was possible to have a child with a mortal of any kind, but it was a more dangerous and trying task to accomplish, since a demigod would be part human - always dangerous - and the Astral would have to raise them to be worthy or else they would be eliminated. In that situation, there was a high risk of the blessing disappearing and the potential to create a successor lost entirely. If they were lucky, the blessing would return to the former owner.

It was impossible to make an Astral out of anyone or anything unworthy, no matter how much an Astral desired it - it was a system beyond their control. Still, the Astrals who were to pass on the blessing did have _some_ choice in all of the worthy souls they encountered. Seline could sense who worthy souls were all around her when she activated the sense, but she hadn't done so in a long time. Perhaps she was afraid of who she saw being worthy or not, perhaps she was afraid of seeing someone she loved _not_ being worthy. Perhaps she was afraid to see _Finn_ wasn't worthy - she'd drive herself mad trying to figure out why that was. Or maybe he _would_ be worthy, and after that, she'd face a conflict about whether to transform him or not.

Artemis crossed her arms and looked down at the water below her. "You are one of three Lunarians who can pass on the blessing. Let us just say…._our_ particular line of descendants is the shortest with the least amount of Lunarians. You've never chosen a successor in all these years."

Selina shifted on her feet. "No one was ever worthy."

"So you believe that our line should simply die out?"

"That's not….that's not what I mean, Artemis, you know that."

"Do I? Do I truly?"

"I'd like to hope so."

Artemis sighed. "I understand your dilemma. I simply grow concerned."

"What happens?" Selina blurted. "If I die without - without leaving a successor? What happens then?"

Artemis shrugged. "The power is lost forever. The Lunarians will only have two different lines of successors. It's not the end, but it certainly will be disappointing. Depending on the circumstances of your death, you'd be remembered and honored and mourned, or you may be shamed as a coward who sabotaged our kind. Me, my sire, all of us up to the Hydraean will be shamed as well."

Selina dropped her head, but had nothing to say.

"I trust you, Seline. I trust who you are, I trust your skill, I trust you know what you're doing. I…well, I don't trust your taste in men, but beyond that…I trust you. I will not stop you, I will not drag you back by force. I will only make the plea that you find a successor - at least find someone who will continue to live beyond you, even should you fail."

Selina took a deep breath. "Well, I _have_ found this one person, but…"

"Your parabatai, you mean - or _Selina Dalmasca's_ parabatai," Artemis guessed.

"I don't want him to die."

"I see. Fate happens, as it happens, Seline. But…you should consider. I believe…your parabatai is not destined for the fate of a Lunarian. I don't think that would be best for him."

"Why not?"

Artemis averted her gaze. "I cannot see many things, Seline, but I see that boy in flames. I'd wager he's destined to be an Infernian, not a Lunarian. He is gentle, but he is not of the moon. You _must_ see that. His soul is gentle, but it burns strong with desire."

"But you said Infernians were bad. That they were all destined to be infected by the Scourge."

"I have hope for that boy, you should too. Keep faith in him. If you're truly so eager to have him as a Lunarian, you would have to kill him first."

Selina stepped forward in protest, but no words came out. Artemis was right. The only way to make him the next Lunarian was to kill him.

"What about that warlock of yours?"

Seline looked up in surprise. "What warlock?"

"The warlock you are associated with. The one with the scales of a serpent."

"What? You mean _Lock?_ Why him? Why would I…? _What?_ Look, he's helping me with the whole Astral thing, nothing more. Why does _everyone_ seem to ship us?"

Artemis smiled. "I don't know what you mean by 'ship.' I know that only as a noun, not a verb, but I assume that means to push you together and strand you on a boat."

Selina crossed her arms. "Close enough. Feels like that's what everyone's trying to do. Metaphorically speaking, anyway. In any case, I don't want _him_ to die either." Her voice unintentionally became quiet. "The fact that he's _not_ an Astral keeps him _safe_ from the Scourge. I'd rather him safe than anything else." She looked up at Artemis and spoke firmly again. "So that he can help us better in finding a cure. I believe he's capable, but he needs to stay immune to it - stay away from the thing that makes us prone to the disease."

Artemis shook her head in exasperation. "Oh, my dear, you have gotten yourself into trouble this time. It seems even _you_ cannot deny this now."

"Deny _what?_"

She didn't give a direct answer. "The warlock is immortal, you may yet have time to think upon this decision. Just be sure not to die before he does."

"If I…if I do that to him…I'll be dragging him into this crazy and dangerous world. Immortality as a warlock is _so_ much better than being a god, let's be honest."

"You've never lived as a warlock," Artemis pointed out. "What's that old saying? The grass always looks greener on the others side? Perhaps you should ask _him_ what _he_ would give to _not_ be a warlock."

"Hm?"

Artemis shook her head. "Forgive me. I am…inadequate with romance. But I believe you are due for some, if _I_ am never to. However you feel about that warlock will be reflected in your choice. I know that if he ascends you will not…but until then, enjoy what time you have, do now squander it."

Selina chuckled. "Thank you, Artemis. It's the thought that counts."

"I wish you good luck, Seline. I truly hope it will do you some good. But this battle to come in the future isn't one we can fight alone. You need allies, but there are…there are people you cannot trust."

"I understand."

"Brynhildr, if she…if she is not yet corrupted, she will be a powerful ally. Just…" She took a deep breath. "Whatever you do, find that successor before you do anything stupid."

Selina laughed. "I'll try. But wouldn't finding a successor be a little stupid?"

Artemis sighed. "Depends on how it happens. Put it this way: take your warlock and your parabatai. Whoever dies first will become your Lunarian. The other will be an Infernian. After that, it shall be a roll of the dice upon their fates, how it is with all others."

Selina hummed in acknowledgment. "I suppose that makes sense."

Artemis began to shimmer. Her time was drawing to a close. She looked to the side, up at the moon. "Do not be afraid, Seline. You must stay strong in the battles to come. And Selina Dalmasca, I believe she is a good choice. I believe you can help these people, and they can help you. So go, start living like you never have before, like you've always _deserved_." She turned away, back to the moon, and walked off, beginning to dissolve. "Oh, and don't be afraid of the love you shall soon face. The love that you feel will be so strong it will hurt."

With that, she vanished.

-_**TTOT**_-

Lock headed out to the Institute once more at the time and location that Pyre had given him. Apparently they'd had some contact with Fae and how to get to him. With his mission in the Hunt occupying him, turns out it was harder than they had assumed it would be for him to get away. At this rate, he was going to run out of magic for his enchantment and it would begin to suck on his life force, a very dangerous thing.

Lock thought back to the first time he'd met Fae, staring at the vial in his hand.

"_You can help me in only one way. I must be the one to accomplish the task on my own. I already have a plan in mind, but I will require one thing from you that I cannot accomplish myself._"

"_And what's that?_"

_Faerie looked up to Zytaveon with fiery eyes holding a rage that showed Veon the many years of built up pain Faerie had held back and fought against. Now, Faerie was going to defy the Unseelie King for the first time, and Faerie was going to revel in these moments of freedom, of choice_.

"_I need you to transform me into something stronger, a warrior my people will have no choice but to respect - a warrior that even my father will have to acknowledge. Transform me into a man, warlock. That is all I ask of you_."

Now, Lock stood waiting to give Fae his next dose. To give Fae what he'd wanted, the only choice was either a long process with mundane medicine, or the only thing that would give him the results that he really wanted - he had to summon a demon. What Fae had been willing to give up in order to gain respect…it had been almost scary how easily he had agreed to the demon deal. In the end, Lock didn't know what Fae had given up or promised, but Fae became a strong warrior all right. Of course, the enchantment would only last with continuous doses of special magic from Lock, or else the spell would begin to drain Fae's own life force. Because of the strength of the spell, there would be little to no chance Fae would be able to sustain it on his own. Lock had to renew Fae's power or else he would quickly begin to weaken as the spell drained his natural magic reserves and his life. Oddly enough, he would've been more magically capable had the spell not been done at all, but Fae wanted to be physically stronger. Ironic.

That little catch-22 is why Lock had never questioned the price of that deal. It was already a broken deal to begin with. Changing who you are through magic was considered unethical and it was wrong in the eyes of nature. Lock felt bad for Fae, wondering what had pushed the faerie so far that he'd resort to measures like this, but with his background, Lock didn't dare question it.

"Hey," Pyre called.

She was accompanied by a wolf at her feet, circling around her and staying close protectively.

"He's gonna be here in a moment, but he's only got a few seconds at most. Iarlath's keeping him on a tight leash and he's worked hard to come up with this excuse. Luckily we've gotten tonight where Fae offered to scout ahead for threats so they can move unimpeded and hopefully Iarlath bought it."

"And I assume this is Wolf?" Lock said, nodding down to the wolf at her heels.

She kneeled down and pet him. "Who else would it be, silly? It's a full moon tonight."

Lock looked up to the full moon in the sky. "So it is."

He instantly started thinking about Seline, a goddess of the moon. He wondered what it was like to be connected to the moon in such a way, what it was like having to come down and deal with all them mortals. What was it like to be a god, not only disconnected from people because of her immortality, but also because she simply…wasn't mortal at all? Could she really feel human emotions, or was she just pretending? Or was it merging with Selina Dalmasca that gave her the ability to feel? Did he really know the real her, or was it just a mix of her human and her godly self?

"Lock."

"Sorry, I'm listening," he said.

"I told Fae to meet us here, but I didn't want Hunter coming," Pyre said.

Lock smiled. "Context."

"Oh shut up, you dirty warlock."

He raised his hands in defense. "I didn't do anything."

She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, he'll be here soon. Give him what he needs and then he'll bolt it out of here."

Lock hadn't told Pyre and Wolf the reasons for Fae needing this potion, and he knew that Fae hadn't fully explained either. The two of them were trusting of their friends. Lock wondered if Hunter even remembered it. Last time that Lock and Fae had met up, Hunter had stormed in, but the subsequent argument had been a curse placed upon both of them. After working that whole debacle out, Hunter seemed to have forgotten all about the elixir that Fae had dodged the subject of during their fallout.

"I guess we wait then," Lock announced.

Pyre sat down on the beach and Wolf laid down beside her, resting his head on her lap. She ran her hand through his fur, and Lock could hardly believe that these were actually his friends. They were getting along. Pyre wasn't making quips about Wolf's wolf form while he didn't have the ability to speak back in retort. Usually the two were at each other's throats just for the sake of it, but Pyre actually leaned and laid down against his body, using him like a pillow.

"You ever wonder what's going to happen to us now?" Pyre asked, breaking the calming melody of the waves.

"Me?" Lock asked. "Why do you ask?"

"We're learning about each other. We're no longer that secret group of five, each a creature of the Shadow World, with aliases and secrets, and the meeting grounds. When was the last time we were all at the meeting grounds together. I mean, _really_. When there were no emergencies or barging in unexpectedly. Just the five of us? Five misfits with nowhere else to go and no one else to trust completely like we did?"

Lock thought back. "Ages ago, now that I think about it."

She chuckled. "Hunter would play his guitar, we'd all try to look distracted, but we were listening closely. Fae never made any attempt to hide his interest though. He once brought a flute to join Hunter. They'd never looked more at ease when they were playing together like that."

"Meanwhile the two of you were always fighting. Not in a bad way though. More like you were the only normalcy we ever had. You trusted each other enough to argue."

She hummed in agreement. "I first came to you, Lock, all those years ago, because I needed to know how you did it. I needed to know how you survived eternity like this. You're not a vampire, yeah - you still have a heartbeat, you have magic, you don't have a sire or a taste for nothing but blood. But…I needed to know if I wasn't alone."

"You were never alone, Pyre. You had your sire, you had your friends."

"There's only so much they can do. There are a lot of them, sure, but when your immortal, the world seems so much smaller. And when they die or move on, even smaller still…"

"And do you think I helped you?"

"Sure. You gave me a family that was ephemeral. Somehow, that made them more precious than my immortal friends, it made me okay with _feeling_. And it also made me okay with being afraid. I've never been scared since I was turned. At least, that's what I thought. Turns out I was always afraid, I just denied it. The fear of being alone. Even if there are still going to be people down the line, they'll be no one that I know. No one that I've loved like this."

Wolf whined beneath her, and she pet his head.

Lock moved to sit beside them. "Wolf and Hunter…even Fae one day - I don't know what we're going to do without them. What _can_ we do but keep their memory alive? You're not expendable, Wolf, you should hopefully know that. We can't replace you, we don't ever wanna forget you. And Hunter…I hope there will be more Shadowhunters out there like him, more good apples who get the power to change the rules."

"If we ever get caught for helping Fae during the Cold Peace, we'll get in trouble," Pyre realized. "Guess it never really sunk in about what that meant."

Lock shrugged. "We can always run. There are a lot of places to hide."

"What? Get a cottage somewhere hidden? Raise some livestock for me and Wolf, have you use your magic to steal food and other stuff, teach Hunter about life outside his Institute - teach _Fae_ about the real world too. That would be fun, wouldn't it?"

"A life we should think about if things ever go south."

"Agreed."

It wasn't long before they heard the booming of thunder and Zoltan appeared with Fae aboard. Lock quickly stood and handed over the elixir without words before Fae nodded and turned his horse to leave.

"One other thing," Lock called. "Hunter and Selina are at this Institute with the Blackthorns. You said your mission had Iarlath making a plan to trade Mark back to his family?"

Fae's expression hardened. "Yes."

"Just wanted you to be prepared."

"I see. I thank you for this information."

With that, he stormed away.

"Will things ever be normal?" Pyre asked quietly. "_Can_ things ever be normal?"

Lock didn't have an answer; instead, he paced along the shoreline, not wanting to leave the sound of the ocean just yet. He'd lived in San Francisco for a while now, yet he wouldn't get tired of the sea.

It was when he closed his eyes and listened that he heard the light sound of voices in the distance. Nearby was a secret beach, hidden by a curve of rocks that hid it from the public. Down there, Emma and Julian were talking lightly. The only reason Veon noticed their location was when Julian came out, climbing over the rocks, before retreating to the Institute. Emma's blonde hair peeked out as she stood, but she didn't pursue him. Veon knew why. It was because of the conversation that they'd been having moments before.

"_Mark was sixteen. I was _twelve_._"

"_Neither of you chose-_"

"_No, we didn't. We didn't choose. Because if I'd ever been able to choose, I would have made really different decisions._"

"_What would you have done differently…?_"

"_I don't know if I would have wanted a parabatai._"

"_Do you actually mean that? You wouldn't have wanted it? This, with me?_"

"_I shouldn't want it. I absolutely shouldn't_."

"Jules…"

The hurt in Emma's voice was clear, and it made sense that she didn't pursue her parabatai after what he'd said. Veon felt bad for them. They had become parabatai in order to stay together, and now that they _were_, they could never have what they both desired - to love each other like more than parabatai, the one type of love that they were forbidden to have. He hoped so badly that no one else would ever have to face that kind of pain. Julian and Emma deserved to be together, but though their parabatai bond had kept them together politically - since the Clave wouldn't dare separate two parabatai no matter their age or circumstance - it had ended up hurting them now more than helping. Back when they'd become parabatai, Veon had understood why - Emma's parents had died and she was going to be taken away if there wasn't a good reason since she was underage. Julian wouldn't let that happen. He promised Mark before he'd been taken away that he would stay with her. More than that, Julian loved her.

Veon was getting really pissed at the Clave, now more than ever. Something had to be done, but it seemed that only destruction would show them the truth. How many would have to die before they got their act together? He hoped not too many more.

* * *

Fionn whacked Kieran on the back of the head before they mounted their steeds. "Do not screw this up. Your feelings must not be known."

"I understand that more than any," Kieran snapped, rubbing his head. "You will safeguard him, yes?"

Fionn pulled his hood over his head, nodding for Kieran to do the same with his. "As well I can when under watch by Nephilim."

'_You are skilled in the affairs of Shadowhunters, are you not? Then you shall monitor Miach's movements. He cannot be allowed to flee from our grasp should the Nephilim break their word and force him to stay. They are not bound so tightly by our laws, so you must make sure they do not engage in foul play._'

"_To send him into the world of the Nephilim during these times is quite a risk,_" Kieran had commented.

"_You suggest your brother is not capable of the task?_" Iarlath had demanded.

"_No, that is not what I-_"

"_Then the decision has been made. He shall be left to monitor Miach and prevent any misbehavior from the untrustworthy Shadowhunters._"

Now, Fionn rode with Mark in front of him atop Zoltan. Miach was at least somewhat awake and mentally stable at the moment, but he had his orders to remain silent. The hallucinogens were still taking their time wearing off, and Mark himself was still unsure of reality and dream. Even so, Miach knew his place. He obeyed the orders given to him, remaining hidden and under his hood as well as silent - with a few enchantments in place just in case seeing his family again sparked defiance in the half-breed.

Fionn held Mark in place atop the horse while Zoltan walked on his own, no bridle needed. Fionn wore a new cloak and Zoltan had shifted his color pattern to match the official colors of the delegation - the color of the earth since he was the last of the three horses riding up to the Shadowhunter Institute. Before him were two black horses with Iarlath and Kieran. Iarlath was wearing black armor that looked like burned leaves and Kieran wearing a robe the color of ivory. Fionn felt very upset that he had to wear brown as Mark's handler (he preferred fiery colors) but he wasn't one to pick and choose when it came to an official delegation.

Fionn recognized the smell of the sea in the air, the noise of the city. He was in…what did Hunter call it? California. There was no doubt about it. He was in a different location, but on the coastal state nonetheless. He pondered the idea of seeing Hunter in his real life constantly during the trip. This was it. If Hunter stayed at the Blackthorns' Institute, it would mean they would have to refer to each other by their real names.

This was it.

He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was the end of an era between them - an era of secrecy that they had worked so hard to preserve. They were in more danger than ever with the Cold Peace in play. There was a swirl of emotions, dread, anticipation, fear of the future.

The Institutes of the Shadowhunters were all so very alike. Fionn could see, high above, a roof near the window that would lead to Hunter's room were this his Institute. He scanned the rest of the large building with his eyes and spotted a group of Shadowhunters gathered at the window. The faerie party had been seen. It was time to go make a deal. Fionn mentally noted that he didn't see Hunter in the window. Perhaps his odd feeling was mistaken.

-**_TTOT_**-

"Now when were the first Accords signed?" Diana asked. "And what was their effect?"

It was a distractingly bright day. Sunlight poured through the high windows of the schoolroom, illuminating the board in front of which Diana paced, tapping the palm of her left hand with a stele. Her lesson plan was scrawled on the board in nearly illegible handwriting - Finn could make out the words _Accords_, _Cold Peace_, and _evolution of Law_. He smirked, remembering how Sergei had rarely ever bothered to use the board, and when he did, he wrote everything in both English and Russian, inadvertently teaching them Russian along with everything else. It wasn't long before his lesson plans weren't just _repeated_ in Russian, but completely merged with it. He could have every other word switch between the two languages, and just for kicks, he'd throw in a whole new language just to throw them off.

Finn was watching the Blackthorns in class, noticing how Julian and Emma seemed to have had tension between them all day. They were polite to each other at breakfast - _too_ polite. They were parabatai, and one thing that Finn had learned from his experience was that when you were close enough to someone that you were parabatai, you were rude to each other almost all the time because you weren't afraid to speak your mind to your parabatai. You teased each other, taunted each other, and then laughed it all off. He had seen that bond between Emma and Julian in the past. Had something changed? Had something occurred that he wasn't aware of?

"They were signed in 1872," Cristina answered. "They were a series of agreements between the species of the Shadow World and Nephilim, meant to keep the peace among them and establishing common rules for all of them to follow."

"They also protect the Downworlders," Julian added. "Before the Accords, if Downworlders harmed each other, Shadowhunters couldn't and wouldn't step in. The Accords gave Downworlders our protection." He paused. "At least until the Cold Peace."

Finn remembered the dread he felt the day that he'd heard of the Cold Peace, punishing the faeries for their part in Sebastian Morgenstern's Dark War. He had worried about Fae the entire time, it had felt like someone had torn out a piece of his heart. He had worried that Fae would be killed, that he wouldn't be there the next time he went to the meeting grounds, which was irrational in hindsight. The Cold Peace didn't order the killing of faeries on sight, but that wasn't far off, really.

"And where were the papers of the Cold Peace signed?" Diana continued.

"In Idris," Livvy said. "At the Hall of the Accords. Everyone who usually attends the Accords was supposed to be there, but the Seelie Queen and the Unseelie King never showed up to sign the treaty, so it was altered and signed without them."

"And what does the Cold Peace mean for faeries?" Diana asked, staring at Emma who was glaring down at her desk.

"Faeries aren't protected under the Accords anymore," Ty answered. "It's forbidden to help them, and they're forbidden from contacting Shadowhunters. Only the Scholomance and the Centurions are meant to deal with faeries - and the Consul and Inquisitor."

"A faerie who carries a weapon can be punished by death," Julian added.

He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. Emma kept on looking at him longingly, wishing that he'd look at her. Those two rarely, if ever, fought. Whatever their fallout had been last night, Finn knew that it had to have been bad.

"And what is the Clave, Tavvy?"

It was a question too elementary for any of the rest of them, but Tavvy looked pleased to be able to answer something. "The government of the Shadowhunters. Active Shadowhunters are all in the Clave. The ones who make decisions are the Council. There are three Downworlders on the Council, each one representing a different Downworlder race. Warlocks, werewolves, and vampires. There hasn't been a faerie representative since the Dark War."

"Very good," Diana said, and Tavvy beamed. "Can anyone tell me what other changes have been wrought by the Council since the end of the war?"

"Well, the Shadowhunter Academy was reopened," Emma said. "A lot of Shadowhunters are trained there now, and of course they bring in a lot of Ascendant hopefuls - mundanes who want to become Nephilim."

Finn remembered hearing that she'd been invited by the Consul to be one of the first students. His own family had been given plenty of opportunity to go there as well. Merida had accepted the offer, but Finn himself had refused. Now, his sister had graduated from the Shadowhunter Academy early and went to the Scholomance. Speaking of which…

"The Scholomance was reestablished," Julian said. Wavy strands of his hair, dark and glossy, fell against his cheek as he lifted his head. "It existed before the first Accords were signed, and when the Council was betrayed by faeries, they insisted on opening it again. The Scholomance does research, trains Centurions…"

"Think of what it must have been like in the Scholomance for all those years it was closed," Dru said, her eyes gleaming with horror-movie delight. "All the way up in the mountains, totally abandoned and dark, full of spiders and ghosts and shadows…"

"If you want to think about somewhere scary, think about the Bone City," Livvy said.

"They say prisoners down there go mad from hearing the whispers of the dead tormenting them for their crimes," Finn added with a small smile.

"I'd like to go to the Scholomance," interrupted Ty.

"I wouldn't," Livvy said quickly. "Centurions aren't allowed to have parabatai."

"I'd like to go anyway," Ty insisted. "You could come too if you wanted."

"I don't want to go to the Scholomance. It's in the middle of the Carpathian Mountains. It's freezing there, and there are bears," she added.

Ty's face lit up as it often did at the mention of animals. "There are bears?"

"Enough chatter," Diana said firmly. "When was the Scholomance reopened?"

Cristina, who had the seat closest to the window, raised her hand to interrupt. "There's someone coming up the path to the front door. Several someones, in fact." She rose to her feet to get a closer look. "Please, come and see."

Finn hadn't heard about this. It was rare that anyone paid an unscheduled visit to the Institute. There were only a few people who might, and even most of the members of the Conclave would have made an appointment with Arthur. Then again, maybe someone _did_ have an appointment with Arthur. Though by the look on Julian's face, if they did, it was one he didn't know about. Julian was all over the affairs of the Institute, doing as much work as Arthur in order to protect his siblings. Now this was suspicious.

Finn stayed back, away from the window to make sure that the approaching party didn't know of his presence. If there was an attack, he wanted to be ready. Though if it _was_ an attack, it was unlikely that the ones walking up to the front door would be the culprits. Perhaps they were just distractions.

Everyone else bolted to the one long window that ran across the main wall of the room. The window itself looked out onto the front of the Institute and the winding path that led from the doors down to the highway that divided them from the beach and the sea. The sky was high and blue and cloudless.

"_Hadas_," Cristina muttered, the word emerging on a staccato beat of astonishment.

Finn didn't wait for Cristina to repeat the word in English, he already knew. _Faeries_. He sprinted away, down the halls, and to where Arthur's office was in the attic. It was rude to barge in, but Finn had the right. This was an emergency. Arthur was seated at his desk, wearing a slightly ragged T-shirt, jeans, and loafers, his gray-brown hair hanging nearly to his shoulders. He was comparing two massive books, muttering and marking down notes.

"Arthur Blackthorn, sir."

"I'm in the middle of something important," Arthur said absentmindedly, making a shooing gesture.

Finn recalled that Malcolm had visited in order to give Arthur's medicine. He had covered Julian for Malcolm's slip of the tongue, but it seems that Finn had found out what it was that Julian gave Arthur medicine for. Just upon first glance, Arthur was fine, but to those who were trained and knew him well enough, there was something very wrong. Finn had heard the tale of Arthur and Andrew Blackthorn. Andrew had fallen in love with Lady Nerissa and had two children with her: Mark and Helen. During that time, there was little record of what happened to Arthur.

Together, Finn and Fae had pieced together as much of the story as they could get from their respective informants. Andrew and Arthur had gone to faerie but were taken prisoner, the Clave made a deal so that the two would be returned within one day, but the faeries had been cunning. One day in the outerworld turned out to be _years_ in Faerie. Andrew had fallen in love with Lady Nerissa, and according to Fae's sources, she had loved Andrew back. There was little to no mention of Arthur, however, until Fae found out that Andrew's brother had been tossed aside, unimportant. Fae had guessed torture, becoming a plaything of the fey. When Arthur escaped, Lady Nerissa had known that she had to let Andrew go, and so she enchanted him to believe what he had told the Clave when he had returned: the faeries had manipulated his mind and it was only thanks to Arthur that he had ever escaped the spell. Hunter and Fae had speculated together, wondering if Andrew really had fallen in love with Lady Nerissa, if she had really loved him back with all her heart. Faeries treated humans like nothing but creatures, no better than animals, but that didn't mean they didn't take love seriously. Fae had been insistent - Lady Nerissa had loved Andrew as more than some prisoner to toy with. But who could really say, now that she had passed?

"Sir, we have a situation that I'd like to request your input on."

"What is it, Andrew?"

Finn blinked. "No, I'm not…ugh, nevermind."

Finn recalled that before the Dark War, Arthur had seemed fine. His lunacy, as the Clave would have termed it, was most likely a faerie-spun thing. If they had not destroyed his sanity, they had planted the seeds of its destruction. They had made his mind a fragile castle, so that years later, when the London Institute was attacked and Arthur injured, it shattered like glass.

"Julian. I'll go get Julian."

He ran out. If anyone would know how to deal with Arthur like this, it had to be the only son that he regularly interacted with. Julian must've known. He _must_ have known about Arthur's condition. But if Arthur was deemed unfit to be the Head of this Institute, that meant that the Blackthorns would be kicked out. Finn cursed. The Blackthorns didn't have a _choice_ but to rely on Arthur as a Head if they wanted to stay here. This was their home. Finn couldn't imagine having to suddenly leave his Institute and be taken to Idris. He loved Alicante, it had always been beautiful to him as it was to all other Shadowhunters. But the Institute had been his home, where he'd grown up with his sister and Selina. With a family as big as the Blackthorns, he couldn't imagine possibly leaving their Institute.

But if Arthur managed to keep up this façade for so long, it meant that either Julian or Emma knew the truth - they were the oldest and the most responsible, particularly Julian who was acting as a parent to all of his siblings.

Turns out, Julian was already on his way to Arthur's office, clutching the vial that Malcolm had given him in his hand. Julian sprinted past into Arthur's office and Finn turned around to follow, staying at the door to observe.

"Uncle Arthur," Julian prodded, approaching the desk. "Uncle Arthur!"

Arthur shooed him away as well. "I'm in the middle of something important, very important, Andrew."

"I'm Julian." He moved up behind his uncle and slammed both of the books he was reading shut. Arthur looked up at him in surprise, his faded green-blue eyes widening. "There's a delegation here. From Faerie. Did you know they were coming?"

Arthur seemed to shrink in on himself. "Yes," he said. "They sent messages - so many messages." He shook his head. "But why? It is forbidden. Faeries, they…they cannot reach us now."

Julian looked like he was praying silently for patience. "The messages, where are the messages?"

"They were written on leaves," Arthur said. "The leaves crumbled. As everything faeries touch crumbles, withers, and dies."

"But what did the messages _say?_"

"They insisted. On a meeting."

Julian took a deep breath. "Do you know what the meeting is _about_, Uncle Arthur?"

"I'm sure they mentioned it in their correspondence…" Arthur said nervously. "But I don't recall it." He looked up at Julian. "Perhaps Nerissa would know."

Julian tensed at the mention of Mark and Helen's mother. A princess of the gentry, she had been beautiful, according to Helen's stories, and ruthless. She had been dead for years, and on his good days, Arthur knew that. Arthur had different kinds of days: quiet ones, where he sat silently without responding to questions, and dark days, where he was angry, depressed, and often cruel. Mentioning the dead meant not a dark day or a quiet day, but the worst kind, a chaotic day, when Arthur would do nothing expected - when he might lash out in anger or crumple into tears. The kind of day that brought the bitter taste of panic to the back of Julian's throat.

Julian put his hand over Arthur's, slender and bony like the hand of a much older man. "I wish you didn't have to go to the meeting, but they'll be suspicious if you don't."

Arthur drew his glasses off his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "My monograph…"

"I know," Julian said. "It's important. But this is also important. Not just for the Cold Peace, but for us. For Helen. For Mark."

"Do you remember Mark?" Arthur asked, his eyes brighter without his glasses. "It was so long ago."

"Not that very long ago, Uncle. I remember him perfectly."

Hearing about Mark reminded Finn of a conversation that he'd had with Fae. He had asked about the Blackthorns before he had been incapacitated and went back to the Hunt. When he had finally returned ages later, he had told the others quickly that he wouldn't be able to return for a while. He had met with a man named Iarlath from the Unseelie Court - right-hand man of the king - to make some deal with the Blackthorns in exchange for Mark. It was all suspicious, but he hadn't expected this plan to go down so soon - he had heard about it long before he had gotten orders from the Clave that he was to discreetly investigate the faerie gathering in California and get assistance from the rest of the Institutes in the state, long before he'd learned that he would be visiting the Blackthorn Institute for a little longer than expected. He'd even gotten orders from Diana to look after Emma in her obsession with this case. He was going to be stuck with the Blackthorns for a while, and this was only going to extend that stay. Oh well. It wasn't like they were the worst family to be staying with.

It was the idea that he'd get to see Fae again that got his heart pounding. He still couldn't get over that teenage feeling of having a crush despite everything they'd been through. Hell, they were only a couple years from a decade of knowing each other. But then again, Iarlath was most likely going to be there too. He couldn't start celebrating this meeting like it was going to be a casual affair.

"It does seem like yesterday." Arthur shuddered. "I remember the Fair Folk warriors. They came into the London Institute with their armor covered in blood. So much, as if they had been in the Achaean lines when Zeus rained down blood." His hand, holding his glasses, shook. "I cannot meet with them."

"You have to," Julian insisted, though he himself was haunted by the Dark War. He had seen faeries slaughter children, heard the screams of the Wild Hunt, and he had only been a child at the time. "Uncle, you _must_."

"If I had my medication…" Arthur said faintly. "But I ran out while you were gone."

"I have it." From his pocket, Julian produced the vial. "You should have asked Malcolm for more."

"I didn't remember." Arthur slid his glasses back onto his nose, watching as Julian tipped the contents of the vial into the glass of water on the desk. "How to find him…who to trust."

"You can trust me," Julian said, almost choking on the words, and held the glass out to his uncle. "Here. You know how the Fair Folk are. They feed on human unease and take advantage of it. This will help keep you calm, even if they try their tricks."

"Yes."

Arthur looked at the glass, half with hunger and half with fear. The contents of it would affect him for an hour, maybe less. Afterward he would have a blinding, crippling headache that might keep him in bed for days. Julian hardly ever gave it to him, the aftereffect was rarely worth it, but it would be worth it now. It had to be. Arthur hesitated, but he slowly lifted the glass to his mouth, tipped the water in, and slowly swallowed.

The effect was instant. Suddenly everything about Arthur seemed to sharpen, to become crisp, clear, precise, like a sketch that had been refined into a careful drawing. He rose to his feet and reached for the jacket that hung on a peg by his desk.

"Help me find some clothes to change into, Julian," Arthur said. "We must make a decent appearance in the Sanctuary."

"I'll see what I can do about the side effects," Selina announced, and Finn jumped to find her standing right beside him. "Get me a sample of the medication when you can, Finnegan. Perhaps we can improve its effects."

"You mean _Lock_ can improve it?" he whispered back to her.

"Believe it or not, I can prove to be useful, parabro."

"Whatever, parasista."

"You can't tell the others," Julian demanded, bringing their attention back to him and Arthur.

"What's there to tell?" Selina asked innocently.

"I saw nothing but Arthur preparing for a meeting with faeries," Finn agreed. "We'll meet you down there."

"This doesn't concern you."

"I believe it does. You wanna know what those faeries are here for? I can tell you. So once again, I'll meet you down there."

-**_TTOT_**-

Every Institute had a Sanctuary.

It had always been that way. The Institute was a mixture of city hall and residence, a place where Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike came to meet with the Institute's head. The head was the local representative of the Clave. In all of Southern California, there was no more important Shadowhunter than the head of the Los Angeles Institute. And the safest place to meet him was the Sanctuary, where vampires did not need to fear hallowed ground, and Downworlders were protected by oaths.

The Sanctuary had two sets of doors. One led outside and could be entered by anyone, who would find themselves inside the massive stone-bound room. The other set of doors connected the inside of the Institute to the Sanctuary. Like the front doors of the Institute, the inner doors of the Sanctuary yielded only to those with Shadowhunter blood.

If the Fair Folk delegation had experience with Shadowhunters, which they likely did, then they were already inside the Sanctuary.

The inner doors to the Sanctuary were at the end of a corridor that led off the Institute's main entryway. They were made of copper metal that had long since gone green with verdigris, and runes of protection and welcome wound their way around the framework of the doors like vines.

"My sources have informed me of an offer to the Blackthorn family, though whether there is foul play involved has yet to be determined."

"You knew of this delegation?" Julian asked.

"Shadowhunters aren't supposed to be on the case of anything involving the fey, but my parabatai and I have been given one exception, as I said. The only condition is to keep it under wraps. Why they gave us this job? Probably because of the work we did in the Dark War. Or maybe my father somehow had something to do with it - anything to keep his son from making a scene. In any case, I have a faerie informant that the Clave knows little about for safety's sake, but he gives me a lot more information than having a faerie prisoner ever could. Unfortunately, he had to leave because he was being watched closely by a dangerous faerie. What he _was_ able to slip to me was a deal with the Blackthorns that they wouldn't be able to refuse."

"And what would that be?"

'_A deal to get Mark Blackthorn back_.' "He wasn't allowed to say, under a binding oath."

Finn had no idea why he was keeping the truth from them. But better that the Blackthorns learned of their missing sibling during the deal, rather than going into this headfirst thinking only about getting Mark back. He'd learned that the Blackthorns could be reckless when it came to something they were dedicated about - if they wanted something, they would destroy anything in their path to get to it. At least when under the watch of faeries, they would keep their temper.

"Just be careful. What they're offering you may yet be something you won't be able to deny. But by making this deal, they're putting your entire family at risk. Why they'd do that…I don't trust it, my informant doesn't trust it, and neither should you."

Emma rushed down the stairs, hurrying to overtake them and pushed through the entrance. Finn sprinted after her, knowing that with Emma's foul mouth the faeries would revel in her rash and headfirst tongue.

The Sanctuary itself was built in the shape of a crescent moon, facing the mountains - the shadowy canyons, the silver-green brush scattered across the landscape. The mountains blocked the sun, but the room was bright, thanks to a pendant chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Light bounced off the cut glass and illuminated the checkerboard floor: alternating squares of darker and lighter wood. If you climbed to the chandelier and looked down, they revealed themselves as the shape of the Angelic Power rune. Not that Finn would ever admit he'd done that. Though one did get an excellent view of the massive stone chair of the Institute's head from that angle.

In the center of the room were the faeries. There were only two of them, one in white robes and one in black armor. Neither of their faces were visible, and though the Shadowhunters could see the fingertips of long, pale hands extending beyond the faeries' sleeves, there was no telling if they were male or female. Finn sensed a wild, unwieldy power rolling off them, the breathy edge of otherworldliness. A feeling like the cool damp of wet earth brushed his skin, carrying the scent of roots and leaves and jacaranda blossoms.

Finn thought about Fae, but he knew that neither of these faeries were him. Fae's presence was that of fire - he smelled of a campfire recently extinguished and the opposite of this cool and water-like feeling. Perhaps Fae wasn't coming for this deal after all.

The faerie in black laughed and drew his hood down. Emma looked startled. Branches grew like twisted horns from his head, his skin the dark green of moss or mildew, cracked all over like bark. His hands were spatulate claws, three-fingered. Gleaming from his weathered, barklike face, his eyes were yellow as a cat's. He wore a cloak, woven with the pattern of a rowan tree.

"We meet again, fair one," he said, and his mouth, which was like a slit in the bark of a tree, grinned.

"Emma?" Finn asked cautiously. "You're acquainted, I assume?"

"I am Iarlath of the Unseelie Court. My companion in white is Kieran of the Hunt. Kieran, lower your hood."

The other faerie lifted two slender hands, each of them tipped by nearly translucent, square nails. He took hold of the edges of his hood and thrust it back with an imperious, almost rebellious, gesture. Emma look mystified by him, Finn shocked. He was beautiful - not in a human way, but like the cutting edge of a blade. He looked young, no more than sixteen or seventeen, though he might be older. Dark hair with a faint blue sheen framed a sculpted face. His light tunic and trousers were faded and worn; they have been elegant once, but now the sleeves and hems were slightly too short on a lithe and graceful body. His wide-spaced eyes were two-colored: the left black and the right a deep silver. He wore the battered white gauntlets that proclaimed him a prince of Faerie, but his eyes said that he was part of the Wild Hunt.

It was Fae's brother.

Finn had only ever seen him once before - during a mission to rescue Simon from Faerie after his companion, the now deceased George Lovelace, had made a miscalculation and incidentally had Simon captured as a result. Finn knew George hadn't meant for it to happen, and in the end, Finn and Isabelle Lightwood were able to rescue Simon, but not before Finn had witnessed both Mark Blackthorn and this Kieran - the brother of Fae who shared the same eyes.

Finn looked to Iarlath - right-hand man of the Unseelie King who had once allied himself with Sebastian Morgenstern during the Dark War. There was little to nothing trustworthy about him, and now that Finn finally saw him up close, he knew that for sure.

"Is this because of the other night?" Emma asked, looking from Iarlath to Kieran. "At the Sepulchre?"

"One of them is the faerie then?" Finn asked. "The one you lost."

"We have met before," Iarlath confirmed. "As for your question, Emma Carstairs, my answer is: in part."

His voice sounded like boughs creaking in the wind. Like the dark depths of fairy-tale forests, where only monsters lived.

"Is this the girl?" Kieran asked.

His voice was very different from his companion's. It sounded like waves sliding up the shore, like warm water under pale like. It was seductive, with an edge of cold. He looked at Emma as if she were a new kind of flower, one he wasn't sure he liked.

"She's pretty. I didn't think she'd be pretty. You didn't mention it."

Iarlath shrugged. "You've always been partial to blondes."

"Okay, seriously?" Emma snapped her fingers. "I am _right here_. And I was not aware I was being invited to a game of 'Who's the Hottest?'"

"I wasn't aware you were invited at all," Kieran countered.

His speech had a casual edge, as if he was used to talking to humans. It reminded Finn of Fae, how his speech had developed to be as casual as possible, but he sometimes let his faerie tongue slip when he wasn't focusing. He had to switch back on a dime sometimes when he went back to the Hunt, so Finn wasn't surprised. Perhaps his speech had influenced his brother, or maybe Mark Blackthorn had - maybe a combination of the two.

"Rude," Emma said. "This is my house. And what are you doing here, anyway? Did you show up to tell me that he-" She pointed at Iarlath "-isn't responsible for the murder at the Sepulchre? Because that seems like going out of your way just to say you didn't do it."

"Emma!" Finn hissed, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Watch your mouth and keep your temper in check."

"I'm just asking why they're here, I have a right."

"You could at least show some semblance of self-control," he muttered, rolling his eyes to show that he didn't believe that was possible.

"Of course I didn't do it," Iarlath snapped. "Don't be ridiculous."

Under any other circumstance, Emma might have dismissed the comment. Faeries, though, couldn't lie. Not full-blooded faeries, anyway. Half faeries, like Mark and Helen, could tell untruths, but they were rare. Still, faeries like Meliorn - who the Seelie Queen once made the representative of their kind at the New Council - had been valuable assets to faeries. It would be easy for a faerie who could lie to claim they couldn't lie and be trusted because of their faerie heritage. Fae had once told Finn that they were prized by higher ranking gentry faeries that wanted to use their deceitful capabilities for their own gain - all they had to do was hide the fact that a faerie was a half-breed. Before Shadowhunters had realized that half-faeries could lie, Meliorn had caused a myriad of trouble during the Dark War, tricking the Clave into believing that the Seelie Queen was loyal to the Shadowhunters and taking the other Downworlder representatives - including Magnus (who Lock had gone on a rampage to rescue after he learned of his adoptive father's capture) - prisoner for Sebastian Morgenstern. He had also been the one, according to Fae, that told Mark Blackthorn, unaware Meliorn could tell lies, that his family was all dead and he had nothing left to live for. It was how Mark had been given to the Wild Hunt.

Fae had told him a few stories about Mark, as well as how Fae, at least, worked even harder to study the cues that showed someone was lying. Even the fey themselves were concerned about half-breeds that could lie, especially ones that they couldn't control. Even if a half-breed could lie, they rarely ever did - especially it if was _known_ that they were half-breeds.

Of course, it was highly unlikely that Iarlath could lie. Yet he _was_ the right-hand man of the Unseelie King - similar to how the Seelie Queen had trusted Meliorn.

"_The truth is far easier to proclaim than a lie, no matter how talented the deceitful soul is,_" Fae had once explained to Hunter.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. "Repeat after me: 'I did not murder the victim you speak of, Emma Carstairs.' So I know it's true."

"_In order to tell a lie, one must know the truth they are contradicting. Their body seizes up at the distortion, the focus it takes to speak that which is not reality._"

Iarlath's yellow eyes fixed on Emma with dislike. "I did not murder the victim you speak of, Emma Carstairs."

"_It can be hidden in a stressful situation because a body on high alert is already tense. But you can see the difference if you study hard enough. A body that lies, no matter how practiced, does not understand the inverse way of thinking. Even when, what you might call 'Stretching the truth,' a body knows the wrongdoing. Where a mind can be fooled, a soul cannot._"

Finn studied every part of Iarlath that he could during the declaration.

"_A faerie as skilled as the one once called Meliorn, even he cannot disguise the subtle hints of deceit. I encountered him, once, and he told me of the Seelie Queen's loyalty during the Dark War. He was good. I was better._"

Iarlath's body was completely relaxed, even if he was angry at Emma. Finn had started studying people after that, and Fae continued to tell him of the key signs of lies. While Finn couldn't claim to be a master, he at least had a hint of what he was looking for. Anger, defensive battle stances, even offensive ones - it was all different from the calm yet tense way a body acted when it knew that it was lying.

"He's being truthful, Emma," Finn declared.

"Then why are you here?" she demanded. "Oh, is this one of those missed-connections things? We met the other night, you felt a spark? Sorry, but I don't date trees."

"I am not a tree," Iarlath hissed, his bark peeling slightly.

"Emma, learn to bite your tongue," Finn demanded. "We're not here for a fight. Besides, I'm starting to feel bad for him at this point."

"Well I just want to know why they're here."

"Then stop _guessing_ and just let them _explain_. Don't forget that you're underage and shouldn't be making contact with these faeries in the first place. I _will_ restrain you and tell your superiors if you keep up this childish attitude."

She glared at him, clearly forgetting that the two of them had company. "Whose side are you on?"

"There are no _sides_, Emma. Like I said, childish."

"Why you-!"

"Emma," a warning voice said from the doorway.

To Emma's surprise, it was Arthur Blackthorn. He stood at the entrance to the Sanctuary wearing a somber dark suit, his hair neatly combed back. The sight gave Emma a jolt; it was a long time since she remembered him wearing anything but a ragged robe or old, coffee-stained jeans. Standing beside him was Julian, his brown hair rumpled. He looked like someone who'd run a marathon and was holding himself back from crumpling with exhaustion and relief. At Arthur's other side was Selina. Finn hadn't seen her all morning and had been getting worried, but when he'd gone to her room she had been there, sleeping silently. He'd tried to wake her up, but she was passed out cold. He found a vial on her nightstand and realized it was the potion thing that Lock had given her to suppress her Astral side. After that, he'd left her to get her rest.

Now, she looked different than the Selina/Seline that he'd grown accustomed to. Where once her silvery lavender eyes gleamed with mirth, now they simply looked tired and defeated inside, as though a light had been flickered out behind them. Her icy blonde hair laid flat behind her shoulders, no longer shimmering and full like it was alive. Her milky complexion had hardened like stone, not rough, but not light and warm like usual. It made Finn realize that Seline really _had_ been a part of his life ever since he could remember, Selina had never been without the Astral's presence until now. Selina's shirts mostly consisted of ones that exposed her shoulder and by extension her crescent birthmark, but now that birthmark was faded to the point where it was basically gone. Just like a rune, Finn thought, all that was left was a light, barely shimmering afterimage.

"My apologies for the behavior of my ward," Arthur said, striding into the room. "Though it is not forbidden to squabble in the Sanctuary, it is against the spirit of the place." He sank down in the massive stone chair under the chandelier. "I am Arthur Blackthorn. This is my nephew Julian Blackthorn." Julian, who had come to stand beside Arthur's seat, inclined his head as Kieran and Iarlath introduced themselves.

"I am Selina Dalmasca," Selina said, her voice flat.

"I am her parabatai Finnegan Scion," Finn said. "We are taking residence within the Los Angeles Institute for business reasons, and anything involving the Fair Folk we are to be informed of."

"We are here to oversee the faerie presence in the state," Selina continued. "As well as working with Arthur Blackthorn and this Institute. Please, as Emma Carstairs so rudely put, pray tell us why you are here."

The faerie convoy exchanged glances. It was Kieran who spoke, his question almost enough to make Finn smile. "What? No words about the Cold Peace or about how this visit breaks your Law?"

"My uncle does not administrate the Cold Peace," Julian explained. "And it is not what we wish to discuss. You know the rules as well as we do; if you've chosen to break them, it must be for an important reason. If you don't wish to share the information, my uncle will have to ask you to leave."

Kieran looked haughty. "Very well. We have come to ask a favor."

"A _favor?_" Emma repeated in amazement.

The wording of the Cold Peace was clear: Shadowhunters were not to give aid to either the Seelie or Unseelie Court. The representatives of the Courts had never appeared to sign the Nephilim's treaty; they had scorned it, and this was their punishment. To offer Mark, Finn thought, was a very tempting bargain, however. The only thing that would make the Blackthorns go against that rule.

"Perhaps you are confused," Arthur said coldly, unsurprised by the declaration. "You might have heard of my niece and nephew; you might think that because our relatives Mark and Helen have faerie blood you will find a kinder hearing here than you would at some other Institute. But my niece was sent away because of the Cold Peace, and my nephew was stolen from us."

Kieran's lip curled up at the corner. "Your niece's exile was a Shadowhunter decree, not a faerie one. As for your nephew-"

Arthur took a shaking breath. His hands were gripping the armrests of his chair. "The hand of the Consul was forced by the betrayal of the Seelie Queen. Unseelie warriors fought beside hers. No faerie hand is free of blood. We are not well disposed towards faeries here."

"The Cold Peace wasn't what took Mark away from us," Julian said, his cheeked burning with color. "That was you. The Wild Hunt. We can see by your eyes that you ride with Gwyn, don't deny it."

"Oh," said Kieran with a slight smirk on his lips. "I would not deny that."

"_He finally took the opportunity to admit his feelings for the Blackthorn boy, and I am confident that it ended well._"

"_Blackthorn? _Mark_ Blackthorn? Your brother likes Mark?_"

"_Yes. Is there a problem with such a relationship?_"

"_No, no._"

Finn's eyes widened at the realization of what Fae had meant back then. It seemed that Kieran and Mark had gone a little further than Finn had initially suspected. Not that it was any of his business.

Finn's sensitive ears caught Julian's intake of breath. "So you know my brother."

The smirk never left Kieran's face. "Of course I do."

Julian looked as if he were barely holding himself back. "_What do you know about Mark?_"

"What is this pretense of surprise?" demanded Iarlath. "It is foolishness. We mentioned Mark of the Hunt in the letter we sent."

Emma saw the look on Julian's face, a flicker of shock. She stepped forward quickly, not wanting him to be the one to have to ask. "What letter?"

"It was written on a leaf," Arthur said. "A leaf that crumbled." He was sweating; he took the handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped at his forehead. "There were words on it about killings. About Mark. I didn't believe it was real. I was-"

Julian stepped forward, half blocking his uncle from view. "Killings?"

Kieran looked at Julian, and his bicolored eyes darkened. Finn felt the uncomfortable sensation that Kieran thought he knew something about Emma's parabatai, something she didn't know herself.

"You know of the murders," Kieran said. "Emma Carstairs found one of the bodies. We know you are aware there have been others."

"Why do you care?" Finn interjected. "Faeries do not normally involve themselves in the bloodshed of the human world."

Though Finn already knew the answer, he knew that he needed to draw the attention away from the Blackthorns. To these faeries, he was simply a diplomat - he didn't have anything to do with Mark Blackthorn in their eyes, he was there for only business, and they wouldn't have anything against him in that sense.

"We do if the blood being shed is faerie blood," Kieran said. He looked around at the surprised faces of the Blackthorns. Only Finn and Selina were unaffected. "As you know, the killer has been murdering and mutilating faeries, too. That is why Iarlath was at the Sepulchre. That is why Emma Carstairs encountered him. You were hunting the same prey."

And while Iarlath was out at the Sepulchre, Fae was no longer being watched by him, Finn realized. That's how Fae got the chance to escape Iarlath's careful watch and inform Hunter, Lock, Pyre, and Wolf of the plans. The information didn't matter much now, but if Iarlath learned that Finn already knew of the deal they were making, it would draw his suspicion to Fae and his brother. Finn knew he'd made the right choice in keeping the Blackthorns in the dark as much as he could and biting his tongue about knowing Mark was being offered.

Iarlath reached into his cloak and drew out a handful of glittering mica. He tossed it into the air, where the particles hung and separated, coalescing into three-dimensional images - images of bodies, faerie bodies. Human-looking gentry faeries, all dead. All had skin carved with the spiky dark markings that had adorned the body Emma had found in the alley.

Emma found herself unconsciously leaning forward, trying to get a better view of the illusion. "What are these? Magic photographs?"

"Memories, preserved with magic," Iarlath said.

"Illusions," Julian repeated. "Illusions can lie."

Iarlath turned his hand to the side, and the images changed. Emma was suddenly looking at the dead man she'd found in the alley three nights ago. It was an exact image, down to the twisted look of horror on his face.

"Does this lie?"

Emma stared at Iarlath. "So you saw him. You must have come across him before I did. I wondered."

Iarlath closed his hand, and the glittering pieces of mica fell to the floor like drops of rain, the illusion vanishing. "I did. He was already dead. I could not have helped him. I left him for you to find."

Emma said nothing. It was quite evident from the picture that Iarlath was telling the truth. And faeries didn't lie.

"Shadowhunters have been killed too, we know," Kieran said.

"Shadowhunters are often killed," said Arthur. "There is no safe place."

"Not so. There is protection where there are protectors."

"My parents," Emma said, ignoring the looks from Julian, Finn, and Selina.

Julian shook his head, Finn and Selina were giving her glares, all as if to say '_Don't tell them, don't share, don't give them anything_.' Emma knew they were right - it was in the nature of faeries to take your secrets and turn them against you. But if there was the change, the smallest chance that they _knew_ something…well that was all too tempting for her impulsive brain to handle.

"Their bodies were found with those same markings, five years ago," Emma continued. "When the Shadowhunters tried to move them, they crumbled to ashes. The only reason we know about the markings was because the Nephilim took photos first."

Kieran glanced at her with shimmering eyes. Neither looked quite human: the black eye was too dark, the silver too metallic. And yet the overall effect was haunting, inhumanly beautiful. Finn hadn't realized how used to those eyes that he'd gotten before.

"We know about your parents," Kieran said. "We know of their deaths. We know of the demon language with which their bodies were inscribed."

"Mutilated," Emma corrected, her breath catching. Julian's eyes were on her, a reminder that he was there, a silent support. "Disfigured. Not _inscribed_."

Kieran's expression didn't change. "We understand as well that you have tried for years to translate or understand the markings, with no success. We can help you change that."

"What are you saying, exactly?" Julian demanded.

His eyes were guarded, his whole posture was. The tension in his body kept Emma from bursting out with questions.

"The scholars of the Unseelie Court have studied the markings," Iarlath explained. "It looks like a language from an ancient time of Faerie. One long before your human memory. Before there were Nephilim."

"Back when faeries were more closely tied to their demonic ancestry," Arthur said hoarsely.

"We know this already," Selina announced.

Kieran's lip curled as if Arthur had said something distasteful. "Our scholars began to translate it."

He drew several sheets of thin, parchment-like paper from his cloak. The markings on them were familiar, like the ones on Emma's parents as well as from the pictures Cristina had taken of the body Emma had found. Below the markings were more words, written in a spidery script. Emma stared eagerly, as though she was preparing to eat up the words without hesitation, hypnotized by the offer before her.

"They translated the first line," Kieran continued. "It does appear to perhaps be part of a spell. There our knowledge fails us - the Fair Folk do not deal in spells; that is warlock territory-"

"You translated the first line?!" Emma burst out. "What is it?!"

"We will tell you," Iarlath promised. "And give you the work our scholars have done so far, as well as an aid who has proven to know the markings well enough to translate - _if_ you agree to our terms."

Julian looked at them with suspicion. "Why would you translate only the first line? Why not the whole thing?"

"Scarce had the scholars worked out the meaning of that first line when the Unseelie King forbade them to continue," Kieran explained. "The magic of this spell is dark, demonic in origin. He did not want it awakened in Faerie."

"You could have continued the work yourself," Selina pointed out.

"All faeries are forbidden by the King to touch these words," Iarlath snapped. "But that does not mean our involvement ends. We believe this text, these markings, may help lead you to the killer once they are understood."

"And you want us to translate the rest of the markings?" Julian guessed. "Using the line you've worked out as a key?"

"More than that," Iarlath said. "The translation is but the first step. It will lead you to the murderer. Once you have found that person, you will turn them over to the Unseelie King that they might stand trial for the murder of the fey and receive justice."

"You want us to conduct an investigation on your behalf?" Julian snapped. "We're _Shadowhunters_. We're bound by the Cold Peace, just like you. It is forbidden for us to help the Fair Folk, forbidden for us to even entertain you here. You know what we'd be risking. How dare you ask?"

There was a rage in Julian's voice - rage out of proportion to the suggestion, but Finn couldn't blame him. He knew what Julian saw when he looked at faeries, especially faeries with the broken eyes of the Wild Hunt. He saw the cold wastes of Wrangel Island. He saw the empty bedroom in the Institute where Mark no longer was.

"It isn't just their investigation," Emma said quietly. "It's mine, too. This has to do with my parents."

"I know," Julian said, and his anger was gone. There was an ache in his voice instead. "But not this way, Emma-"

"Why come here?" Arthur interrupted, looking pained, his face gray. "Why not to a warlock?"

Kieran's beautiful face twisted. "We cannot consult a warlock. None of Lilith's Children will deal with us. The Cold Peace has left us shunned by other Downworlders. But you can visit the High Warlock Malcolm Fade, High Warlock Zytaveon, or even Magnus Bane himself, and demand an answer to your question. We are chained, but _you_-" He spoke the word with scorn. "You are free."

"This is the wrong family to have come to," Arthur said. "You are asking us to break the Law for you, as if we have some special regard for the Fair Folk. But the Blackthorns have not forgotten what you have taken from them."

"No," Emma insisted. "We need those papers, we need-"

"Emma." Arthur's look was sharp. "Enough."

Emma dropped her gaze, but her blood was singing through her veins, a determined melody of rebellion. If the faeries left and took the papers with them, Finn had no doubt that she'd find some way to track them down, to retrieve the information, to learn what she had to way. Some way. Even if the Institute couldn't risk it, she could.

Iarlath looked at Arthur. "I do not think you wish to make such a hasty decision."

Arthur's jaw tightened. "Why do you second-guess me, neighbor?"

_The Good Neighbors_. An old, old term for faerie folk.

"You said you have an aid that knows the markings well enough to translate," Finn spoke up. "I assume that's not one of you. You haven't put all your cards on the table, so to speak, you haven't shown your full hand. What are you offering? So far, you've only said that you will give us the means to solve this case. Why would the Blackthorns accept this deal? Out of the kindness of their hearts? Your delegation should have three members, too. I notice there are only two of you."

Kieran smiled at him, and Finn internally tensed. These were the same eyes as Fae's, but they didn't know him at all. They looked at him with curiosity, but with no hint of pity or compassion behind them.

"Very good, wise one. As for your question, we have something that you want above all other things. And if you help us, we are willing to give it to you."

Julian paled. Emma, staring at him, was for a moment too caught up in his reaction to realize herself what they were implying. When she did, it was evident on her face. Finn didn't react, he already knew.

"What is it?" Julian whispered. "What do you have that we want?"

"Oh, come now," Kieran said, unable to suppress the smile that crept across his face. "What do you think?"

The door of the Sanctuary, the one that went to the outside of the Institute, opened, and two faeries in brown robes came in. They moved with grace and silence, no hesitation or trepidation - without anything human about their movements at all. Entering the pattern of the angelic rune on the floor, they came to a stop. The room was completely silent as one of them, slightly taller than the other, raised his hands to his hood and threw it off, resembling his brother's slightly defiant nature.

Finn could only stare as he saw a flash of amber hair come free. Fae ran his hands through his hair, a shaggy mop of enchanted red faerie color, seemingly adjusting it after it had been trapped under a hood. When he finally opened his eyes, he had a small smirk on his face, one that - for some reason Finn couldn't explain - made Finn's heart jump.

Fae was here, Fae was here, _Fae was here!_

For some reason, his brain was taking time to process this information. Fae's eyes locked onto his immediately. Finn saw a swirl of emotions - surprise, love, confusion, remembrance, guilt, and then blankness like he'd just taken a deep inner breath. He was tense, but only someone who truly knew him would ever notice. His eyes quickly moved to the Blackthorns, one by one, and then Selina last. At the sight of her, his eyes narrowed.

"You."

Selina put a hand on her hip. "Me, jackass."

Iarlath eyed the two of them. "You know this girl, Fionn Flann?"

Finn nearly lost his composure and broke out into laughter. The reality of the situation was almost too absurd to fully comprehend. This was them, meeting in front of strangers for the first time, Finn _finally_ learned Fae's real name - and it was an alliteration. Not only that, his last name (or at least his second name or title or whatever) reminded him a dessert that he had once made with Merida and Selina. His first name was only a letter off from Finn's his nickname anyway (considering the fact that the Scion family had Scottish origins on his mom's side and his mother had named him and his sister, it wasn't surprising that his name was close to faerie origin in turn). This was the end of all the secrecy, a new chapter of their lives, and Fae's entrance as he tried to look cool made Finn want to jump him - though whether it was to attack him or to kiss the living hell out of him, that was still up for debate.

Finn wanted to laugh. He wanted to break down rolling on the floor with laughter at the crazy situation that they'd found themselves in. It was through sheer willpower that he managed to dim it down to a simple smile - something that didn't roll by Fae, if his glare was anything to go by. Fae probably read him like a book and knew exactly how Finn was feeling at that moment.

"He broke my sword," Selina said, easily weaving bitterness into her words.

Finn had almost forgotten about the incident when Selina and Merida had first found out about the meeting grounds, particularly Fae. The day that Fae had been nervous as hell trying to give Hunter an elf-bolt as a present which led to a complicated situation where Selina and Merida found a way to trick Lock into opening the portal to the meeting grounds, found Fae, thought he was threatening Hunter, they got into a fight, and Fae proved his superiority. The only reason he'd gotten hurt was because Hunter had told everyone to stop but Selina had kept going. At the time, they hadn't known that Selina was an Astral, Seline, but it was a good enough excuse as to how the two of them met.

"She stabbed me with a wrought iron arrow," Fae countered.

Kieran's eyes flared with anger. "_What?_ When did this encounter occur?!" he demanded.

"An encounter of the past, Kieran. Nothing to rage about. We've long since moved on from the incident. It had long since departed the depths of my mind. We are not here for me, nor her. We have come to make a bargain, no?"

He put his hand on the second figure's shoulder and they jumped into action, as if waiting for the cue. He raised his hands to his hood and - for the first time - hesitated. His hands were human, long-fingered, tanned pale brown. Familiar.

Emma wasn't breathing, Julian looked as if he were in a dream, and Arthur's face was blank, confused.

"Take your hood down, boy," Iarlath demanded. "Show your face."

The familiar hands tightened on the hood and yanked it down. Pushing, then shoving the cloak off his shoulders, as if the material of it clung unpleasantly. Finn saw the flash of a long, lithe body, of pale hair, of thin hands, as the cloak was wrenched away and slid to the ground in a dark puddle. A boy stood in the heart of the rune, panting. A boy who looked about seventeen, with fair hair that curled like acanthus vines, tangled with twigs and briars, hanging to his shoulders. His eyes showed the shattered doubling of the Wild Hunt: two colors - one gold, one Blackthorn blue. His feet were bare, black with dirt, his clothes ragged and torn.

Emma looked dizzy with a terrible mixture of horror and relief and amazement. Julian had stiffened, as if he'd been shocked with electricity. Finn noticed the slight tightening of his jaw, the twitch of a muscle in his cheek. He didn't open his mouth; it was Arthur who spoke, half-rising from his chair, his voice thready and uncertain:

"_Mark?_"

* * *

**Chapter Title: '_Consequences_' by Camila Cabello**

**I'm no doubt going to use this song later because damn if it doesn't fit into the future but it's stuck in my head so it's the chapter title.**

**And yeah, I'm updating this at 3 in the morning (nearly 4 in the morning) but my Sunday doesn't start until, like, 11 during the weekend. So this chapter totally came out on time in my eyes.**

**Dammit, 16,000 words. I need to shorten these things. There's this one author who I found that uploaded chapters that were on average 25,000 words of pure fluff every two weeks and I was like 'That's insane, even I don't write that much' and here I am making tens of thousands of words of pure fluff at a time. I'ma be up there soon enough by the end of this. That author had a story that was over a million words of pure fluff and a bit of plot. We've set the benchmark, ladies and gentlemen.**


	4. It's Gonna Hurt For a Bit of Time

**Look! A chapter that's just 10000 words rather than 14000, 15000, or 16000! That's****…great? Yeah, these chapters are gonna be pretty long since Lady Midnight is so big and I'm only halfway through it even though I'm way ahead of the released chapters.**

**Not very much important in this chapter, but I'm working away to get to where I wanna be. So much Lady Midnight though. So much.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Fionn felt like his insides were liquifying.

Hunter was here, Iarlath had been so gracious as to give out Fionn's name within seconds of their introduction and Hunter had _laughed!_ Not on the outside, of course, but Fae had seen his smile, saw the mirth in his eyes and the desperation to let loose his true feelings. Fionn had wanted to tackle Hunter - although whether it was to put him in a chokehold or to kiss the living hell out of him, that was still up for debate.

Speaking to Selina helped him regain his composure, but that still didn't fully ease his nerves. Being around Selina had apparently been the cause of his former insanity, but for some reason, Selina looked different. Whatever she'd done to herself, it seemed to have solved the problem, but there was something just…_wrong_ with her. He had been annoyed by her, for sure, but he had begun to accept her as a comrade and possibly even as a friend. Now, he wasn't sure what or who she was, but she wasn't the person that he'd grown to care for.

Fionn tried to stay focused on the task at hand, jumping in as Mark's eyes widened in confusion and he opened his mouth to answer his uncle.

"Mark Blackthorn of the Wild Hunt, do not speak until given permission to speak," Fionn snapped.

Mark's muscles obeyed before his mind ever could. His lips slammed together, his face was still. Fionn's methods of torture had been successful in making sure that Mark was compliant. Fionn didn't have time to feel bad about his actions; he knew that he had a job to do.

"And you," Kieran said, holding up a hand as Julian started forward. "Stay where you are."

"What have you done to him?" Julian's eyes flashed. "_What have you done to my brother?_"

Fionn felt a pang of sympathy for Julian Blackthorn. If it was Fionn, worried beyond compare over savage strangers taking away Kieran, he knew that he would be just like Julian, perhaps worse. It was the main reason that he'd volunteered to join the Hunt when Kieran was to be taken away - he wouldn't be able to survive wondering the kind of horrors that awaited his brother, alone and afraid for reasons that he had no control over. It wasn't as though Kieran joined the Hunt of his free will. Fionn had made a promise when Kieran had been born, a promise to protect him, a promise to never leave his side. He owed it to their late mother; there was no way that Fionn _wouldn't_ follow his brother to the Hunt.

"Mark belongs to the Wild Hunt," Iarlath said. "If we choose to release him to you, it will be at our recognizance."

Arthur Blackthorn had sunk back into the chair behind him. He was blinking owlishly and looking from Mark to the faerie host. The gray color was back in his face.

"The dead rise and the lost return," he said. "We should fly blue banners from the tops of the towers."

Kieran seemed coldly puzzled. "Why does he say that?"

Julian looked from Arthur to Mark to the other three faeries. "He's in shock. His health is fragile; it has been since the war."

"It is from an old Shadowhunter poem," Fionn explained. "I am surprised you are unaware of it."

"Poems contain much truth," Iarlath said, and there was humor in his voice, but a bitter sort.

Fionn wondered if he was laughing at them or himself.

Julian was staring at Mark, a look on his face of unmitigated shock and longing. "Mark?"

Mark looked away.

Julian Blackthorn looked as if he'd been pierced by elf-bolts, the sly faerie arrows that burrowed under the skin and released deadly poison. Emma Carstairs looked like her heart was being pierced by knife blades simply at seeing her companion's dismay.

"Mark," Julian said again, and then in a half whisper, "Why? Why can't he speak to me?"

"He is forbidden by Gwyn to speak until our bargain is sealed," Kieran explained.

He glanced at Mark, and there was something cold in his expression. The Shadowhunters might've mistaken it for hatred, envy, dispising Mark for being half-human. Fionn knew the truth. Kieran hated the idea that Mark would leave him, be out of his reach, and the possibility that these lying savages that had abandoned him in the first place may yet trick him into returning to the Shadowhunters permanently. Kieran had a strong loathing of Shadowhunters for what they did to Mark, simply abandoning him, and for causing the Cold Peace. Nothing about this deal made Fionn happy. He pitied the Blackthorns, but he also pitied his brother - the latter of which he ultimately cared for the most.

Most of all, he pitied Mark Blackthorn, Miach, and the future he will be facing.

Fionn could sense how hard Julian was holding himself back from going to his brother.

Emma Carstairs spoke in his stead. "So Mark is your bargaining chip."

Rage flashed across Kieran's face, sudden and startling. "Why must you state things that are obvious? Why must _all_ humans do it? Foolish girl-"

"Kieran," Fionn scolded.

In that one word, he subdued his brother with ease, reminding him that he was still his brother's inferior, reminding him that he was acting like a child by letting his rage show. If the Shadowhunters were supposed to be the ones who lost their cool, Kieran couldn't do so as well. He was a faerie, he was of the Wild Hunt, and he was nearly a man. He needed to fix his emotional attitude, and soon.

Julian Blackthorn, meanwhile, changed. His attention snapped away from Mark, his spine straightening, his voice hardening. He sounded calm, but there was a distinct ice in his voice that could be sensed by those who knew it well enough.

"Emma is my parabatai," he said. "If you ever speak to her like that again, there will be blood on the floor of the Sanctuary, and I do not care if they put me to death for it."

Fionn smiled, his beautiful, alien eyes gleamed. "You Nephilim are loyal to your chosen partners, I will give you that. But should you threaten my brother with weapons for his tongue, I fear I will have no choice but to make sure the blood on this floor is not faerie, but Shadowhunter. Your words counter his words, my weapon shall counter yours. Besides, you Nephilim _do_ state the obvious too much."

Hunter snickered and Selina Dalmasca flipped her hair over her shoulder, although there wasn't the same fluid grace he was accustomed to seeing from her. "True enough. Perhaps we just like to keep things straight between us. Assuming things is how we make mistakes. You should know that well."

Kieran waved a dismissive hand, his composure reestablished. "I suppose Mark is our bargaining chip, as you put it, but do not forget that it is the fault of the Nephilim that we need one at all. There was a time when Shadowhunters would have investigated the killings of our kind because they believed in their mandate to protect more than they believed in their hate."

"There was a time when the Fair Folk might have freely returned to us one of our own," Arthur said. "The pain of loss goes both ways, as does the loss of trust."

"The effects of the war are not the fault of the individual alone," Fionn declared. "There is regret and hatred even among our own. I assume you are unhappy with your Clave's decision to abandon Mark and his sister. There are many fey unhappy with the punishment the Clave has inflicted upon us even if we were not involved in the previous war and did not side with the traitorous queen. The enemy to blame for our torment is not within this room, you must know that, and as such, there will have to be trust among us."

Julian's gaze went back to his brother. Fionn saw the hatred in Emma Carstairs' eyes for the Fair Folk, for in holding Mark they also held Julian's human, breakable heart. Fionn wasn't happy about this arrangement either, he wished he could say it out loud, and hopefully turning the attention to the Clave as the real enemy, he could sway the hearts of the Nephilim.

"So you want us to find out who is responsible for these killings," Julian said. "Stop the murders of faeries and humans. And in return you will give us Mark, if we succeed?"

"The Court is prepared to be far more generous," Kieran said. "We will give you Mark now with Fionn as his guard. They will assist you in your investigation. And when the investigation is over, Mark may choose whether he remains with you or returns to the Hunt."

"He will choose us," Julian said firmly. "We are his family."

Kieran's eyes shone. "I would not be so sure, young Shadowhunter. Those of the Hunt are loyal to the Hunt."

"He isn't of the Hunt," Emma said. "He's a Blackthorn."

"Look to his eyes, Emma Carstairs," Fionn said. "It has been many years since he was a Blackthorn. In all that time, he has been of the Wild Hunt. You cannot deny something simply because you desire it to be false. Humans frustrate me with their insistence that their logic is superior to all others."

"His mother, Lady Nerissa, was fey," Kieran said. "And he has ridden with us, reaped the dead with us, mastered the use of elf-bolt and arrow. He is a formidable warrior in the faerie fashion, but he is not like you. He will not fight like you. He is not Nephilim."

"Yes he is," Julian said. "Shadowhunter blood breeds true. His skin can bear Marks. You know the laws."

"He is a Shadowhunter, but he is also of the Fair Folk," Fionn declared. "There is not one or the other. His blood cannot be changed. He cannot be full faerie, but he also cannot be full Shadowhunter. Just remember, Julian Blackthorn, that it was Shadowhunter blood that betrayed him and left him to the Wild Hunt in the first place. Bringing him into a world that abhors him may not be the wisest course of action, and he will recognize this."

Julian glared at him. "And you're supposed to come with Mark to what? Keep an eye on him? Make sure that he doesn't love his family so long as he's here? To manipulate his choice?"

"Quite the opposite. I am to safeguard him during this excursion and to prevent you Nephilim from stealing him away without upholding the terms of our agreement. Should Mark choose to return with you, I shall depart to the Hunt alone. I give you my word that should your Head of this Institute decide your cooperation in this negotiation, I will not manipulate Mark to be swayed towards the Hunt. But nor shall I allow you to sway him to return to you either. This must be his choice, and neither of us should force his hand. I believe he deserves the freedom of this choice, and if you ever felt love for your kin, you would honor his wishes as well."

Julian said nothing. Fionn could see the consideration, watching as he processed Fionn's words.

"I will also be of assistance in translating the runes and markings upon the deceased victims. I have proven able to translate them with enough concentration, but I am unable to do so while in Faerie by the Unseelie King's decree."

Gwyn revealing this information to Iarlath had, at first, seemed like a danger, but in reality it was now a blessing. Iarlath had decided that Fionn needed to go with Mark in order to keep him in line, and using the excuse that Fionn could translate the symbols would be a deal breaker.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but we already have someone who can read those markings," Emma said. "If you have the transcript, we'll take it, but we don't need-"

"No you don't," Selina interrupted. "You don't have a proper translator. You need him."

Emma looked confused, but Kieran cut in. "Only the Head of the Institute can decide this. You must let your uncle speak freely."

Emma looked to Arthur; they all did. Arthur picked nervously, fretfully at the arm of his chair. "You wish the fey boy and his guardian here that they might report on us to you," he said finally in a quavering voice. "They will be your spies."

_The fey boy_. Not Mark. Mark's face was stony, emotionless at the treatment of him. Fionn's face became sad, pitiful, hopefully conveying Mark's feelings even if Mark himself could not.

"If we wished to spy on you, there are easier ways," Kieran said in a tone of cold reproach. "We would not need to give up Mark - he is one of the best fighters of the Hunt. Gwyn will miss him sorely. He will not be a spy."

"Neither will I," Fionn state. "As my brother states, there are far easier ways to spy on you. Neither Mark nor I shall spy on you, betray you. However, I am to make sure that Mark is not to betray the fey either."

Julian drew away from Emma, fell on his knees by his uncle's chair, and leaned in to whisper to Arthur. Fionn looked to Hunter, who was listening closely to what was being said between the two. Fionn knew that Hunter had excellent hearing, especially after he received his new musical weapon. If Hunter was surprised by what was being said, he didn't show it. Fionn smiled at the lack of emotion on his face at the moment. Fionn could tell he was holding a lot in.

Arthur held up a shaking hand, as if to silence his nephew, and turned to the faeries. "We will accept your offer. On the condition that there will be no tricks. At the end of the investigation, when the killer is caught, Mark will make his own free choice to stay or to go."

"Of course," Iarlath said. "As long as the murderer is clearly identified. We wish to know the one with the blood on his hands - it will not be enough for you to say 'it was done by that one or this one' or 'vampires were responsible.' The murderer or murderers will be placed in the custody of the Courts. _We_ will mete out justice."

Emma Carstairs looked like she didn't quite agree with that term in particular - this was a vendetta against her parents' killers, after all - but she said nothing aloud to express her rage.

"First you swear," Julian said, his blue-green eyes bright and hard. "Say, 'I swear that when the terms of the bargain are fulfilled, Mark Blackthorn will make his own free choice whether he wishes to be part of the Hunt or return to his life as a Nephilim."

Kieran's mouth tightened, but Fionn put his hand on his brother's shoulder. The two looked at each other before nodding. Together, they spoke, "I swear that when the terms of the bargain are fulfilled, Mark Blackthorn will make his own free choice whether he wishes to be part of the Hunt or return to his life as a Nephilim."

Mark was expressionless, unmoving as he had been all this time, as if they weren't discussing him but someone else. He looked as if he were seeing through the walls of the Sanctuary, seeing the distant ocean, perhaps, or a place even further away than that.

"Then I think we have an arrangement," Julian said firmly.

The faeries looked at each other, before Kieran walked over to Mark, laid his white hands on Mark's shoulders, and whispered in a guttural language the Nephilim didn't understand - not the high, fluting speech of the Court fey or any other magical language. Mark didn't move, and Kieran stepped away, looking unsurprised.

"He is yours, for now," Kieran said. "We will leave his steed for him. They have become…attached."

"He won't be able to use a horse," Julian said, his voice tight. "Not in Los Angeles."

Kieran's smile was full of contempt. "I think you'll find he can use this one."

"God!" Arthur cried, loud enough to startle even Fionn. Arthur lurched forward, his hands cradling his head. "It hurts-!"

Julian moved to his uncle's side, reaching to grip his arm, but Arthur threw himself off, rising to his feet, his breath uneven. "I must excuse myself. My headache, it is unbearable."

He looked horribly unwell, it was true. His skin was the color of dirty chalk, his collar sticking to his throat with sweat. Both Kieran and Iarlath said nothing. Neither did Mark, who still stood swaying blindly on his feet. The fey watched Arthur with avid curiosity burning in their eyes, and Fionn knew what they were thinking. '_The Head of the Los Angeles Institute. He is weak, unwell_…'

Fionn stepped forward. "Allow me."

Julian moved to stop him, but Hunter grabbed his arm and shook his head, nodding for Fionn to go forward. Such trust, even in front of the Blackthorns, almost made Fionn's heart melt. Fionn held his hand out to touch his index and middle fingers to Arthur's forehead. He whispered a small enchantment and let his magic flow forward. It was draining, but he needed to prove that he was trustworthy to the Blackthorns as well as get practice using his magic again.

When he finished, he concentrated hard to keep his composure, lowering his hand. "You must get rest, sir. You are suffering the aftereffects of a powerful but flawed potion. Perhaps you should see a warlock for treatment."

The inner doors rattled, and a Shadowhunter woman came in. She looked cool and calm, held an air of authority to her. Her dark gaze took in the scene before her, and as her glance brushed over Emma, there was cold anger in it.

"Arthur," she said. "You are needed upstairs. Do go. I will escort the convoy outside to discuss the bargain."

Fionn wondered how long she had been eavesdropping. She was no doubt a force to be reckoned with, that was for sure.

Arthur, who was still looking ill but slightly better, hurried past the Shadowhunter woman towards the door.

"Is he dying?" Iarlath asked with some curiosity, his gaze following Arthur as he left the Sanctuary.

Fionn smiled at the bluntness of the question, and saw Hunter doing the same. "We're mortal," Hunter explained calmly. "We get sick, we age. We're not like you. But it's nothing that should be a surprise."

"Enough," the woman said. "I will lead you from the Sanctuary, but first…" She held out a slim brown hand. "The translation."

Hunter flicked his hand at his side, a language of signs that Hunter had taught Fionn during one of their meetings - as well as the others in their group. Lock had known it, but Pyre and Wolf had not. It had been an enjoyable bonding experience, but Fionn had only managed to learn the English alphabet, not any signs for actual motions or words overall. Luckily, the letters were all he needed to communicate, even if it was a slower method than knowing the shortcuts.

_D-I-A-N-A_ _W-R-A-Y-B-U-R-N_.

Kieran handed over the near-translucent papers with a wry look. Diana glanced down at them.

"What does the first line say?" Emma asked, unable to stop herself.

"Fire to water," Fionn remembered.

"What does that mean?" Diana wondered aloud.

Iarlath gave her a single cool look and moved to join her. "It will be the task of your people to find out."

According to the notes that Gwyn had given him, Fionn had learned that the bodies found looked to have been burned and drowned, which translated well to the first line of fire and water. Then again, this was also a shaky translation. The real words weren't particularly 'fire to water.' It could've been 'heat to cold,' 'burnt to wet,' or 'flames to tides.' The only way to make any sense of it was to try and translate the rest.

Emma Carstairs looked eager to get her hands on those papers, but Diana Wrayburn tucked them into her jacket, a subtle way of saying '_No, not today young lady,_' in a scolding manner.

Diana led Kieran and Iarlath towards the Sanctuary exit. "You understand that we will be investigating this without the knowledge of the Clave," she said as Iarlath fell into step beside her. Kieran walked behind them, scowling.

"We understand that you fear your government, yes," Iarlath confirmed. "We fear them too, the architects of the Cold Peace."

Diana didn't rise to the bait. "If you must contact us during the investigation, you'll need to take care in doing so."

"We will come only to the Sanctuary, and you may give messages to Fionn. If we hear that you have spoken of our bargain to anyone outside these walls, especially one who is not Nephilim, we will be most displeased. Mark, too, is under orders of secrecy from the Hunt. You will find he and Fionn will not disobey."

The two faeries vanished outside, Kieran sparing one final glance at Fionn, and Fionn nodding back. It was a clear message: '_Take care of Mark._'

Fionn let out a deep breath once Iarlath was gone. "Stressful, that was."

"Iarlath scares you?" Hunter asked with a cocky smirk on his face.

Fionn frowned. "A man so malicious that my father trusts him. It is not a matter of fear, but a matter of wisdom. Crossing him will result in nothing good. Now, we must focus on aiding Miach." He internally cursed. Miach's name change would be a hard adjustment for him. He needed to get this straight, and fast. "_Mark_."

"What do you mean?" Emma demanded. "What did you _do_ to him?"

"I am not pleased with his current state!" Fionn snapped. Clearly he was not yet a guest here, though that shouldn't have been too surprising. "What has been done to him can be reversed, but you need to administer aid right now."

Julian Blackthorn was looking at his brother in shock, finally staring at him with all the care that a brother finding his long lost sibling should. Mark, for now, was not going to be taken away. The idea was almost too much for Julian to comprehend.

Mark raised his head slowly. He was thin as a lath, so much narrower and more angular than when he had been lost. He didn't seem to have aged so much as sharpened, as if the bones of chin and cheek and jaw had been refined with careful tools. He was gaunt but graceful, in the manner of the fey.

"Mark," Julian breathed out.

Fionn imagined the horrors that Julian and all of the Blackthorns must have gone through when they learned Mark was gone. All these years of wanting to search for him, but the Clave had prevented it. Fionn could only imagine if that had been his own brother. Julian was pale now, but his eyes were shining as if he were looking at a miracle. To him, it must have really _been_ a miracle. Faeries didn't give back what they had taken. Or at least, they never gave it back unchanged.

Julian took a step towards his brother, and then another one, and then spoke, his voice breaking. "Mark," he whispered. "Mark. It's me."

Mark looked Julian straight in the face. There was something about his two-colored eyes; both eyes had been blue when the Blackthorns had last seen him, and the bifurcation seemed to speak to something broken inside him, like a piece of pottery cracked along the glaze.

"Mark, you may speak freely now," Fionn prodded. "Mark? Have you your wits?"

Mark looked at Julian, taking in his height, his broad shoulders and lanky frame, his tousled brown hair, his Blackthorn eyes, and then he spoke for the first time. His voice sounded rough, scraped, as if he had not used it in days. In fact, he'd used it a lot from his screaming.

"Father?"

Fionn saw it milliseconds before it happened. He dived forward to catch Mark as the half-faerie's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed in a dead faint.

Everyone in the room except for Diana exclaimed in surprise.

"Do you have a bed Mark could use?" Fionn asked calmly.

* * *

Mark's bedroom was full of dust.

It had been untouched for years after he disappeared. Finally, on what would've been his 18th birthday, Julian had thrown the door of the room open and cleared it out in a savage spree. Mark's clothes, toys, games - all had gone into storage. The room was cleaned out and stripped down, a bare, empty space waiting for decoration.

Emma moved around, pushing back dusty curtains and opening windows, letting in light, while Fionn, who had insisted on carrying Mark up the stairs to the chagrin of the Blackthorns, carefully set Mark down on the bed. The blankets were pulled tight, a thin layer of dust across the coverlet. It puffed up as he set Mark down; Mark coughed but didn't stir.

Fionn sighed. "He has gone through far too much."

Fionn knew that the Blackthorns didn't trust him, they wanted to vent years of anger from losing their brother upon Fionn because he was there - the only target that they could place the blame upon. He stepped back, allowing Julian to take over watching his older brother.

"What happened to him?" Hunter asked quietly.

"An Agony rune, applied multiple times across these past few days," Fionn explained.

"You?" Hunter asked.

Fionn nodded. "My Iratze is stronger than even your parabatai's. Imagine the horrors of the Agony rune."

"Iarlath made you do this?"

Fionn nodded, though smaller this time. "I am sorry."

"I know you are."

"But the Blackthorns do not. They do not trust me, they have very good reason not to. I did this, even under Iarlath's orders. I could have chosen to disobey, but I didn't."

"Because you didn't, Mark has a chance with his family again."

"And the chance to leave my brother."

Hunter flinched. This time, he didn't have a reply.

Emma turned away from the windows; open, they flooded the room with light and turned the dust motes in the air into dancing creatures.

"He's so thin," Julian said. "He hardly weighs anything at all."

Someone who didn't know him might have thought he was expressionless - his face betrayed only a kind of tightening of the muscles, his soft mouth compressed into a hard line. It was the way he looked when he was struck to the heart with some strong emotion and was trying to hide it, usually from his younger siblings. Fionn knew how that felt. He'd had to hide his true feelings from everything - especially Kieran - for many years, for all of his life. There was once a time when he would've screamed at the unfairness of the world, he would've thrown a fit and sobbed and punched and kicked, but he soon learned that getting angry wouldn't change anything. He was scorned for losing control, and especially once he had a brother that was depending on him, he learned his lesson.

Emma came over to the bed. For a moment, they both stood looking down at Mark. Indeed, the curves of his elbows and knees and collarbone were painfully sharp under the clothes he wore: ragged jeans and a T-shirt gone almost transparent with years and washing. Tangled blonde hair half-covered his face.

"Is it true?" a small voice said from the doorway.

"Tiberius and Livia - Ty and Livvy," Hunter whispered to Fionn.

Emma whirled around and Hunter looked over to see that Ty and Livia had come into the room, only a little way. Cristina and Selina were in the doorway behind them, looking apologetically at Emma to say that they had tried to hold the twins back. Emma shook her head in understanding - it was impossible to stop the twins when they wanted to be a part of something. It was Livvy who had spoken. She looked across the room now, past Emma, to where Mark lay on the bed.

She sucked in a breath. "It _is_ true…"

"It can't be," Ty muttered, his hands fluttering at his sides. He was counting on his fingers, one to ten, ten to one. The gaze he fixed on his unconscious brother was full of disbelief. "The Fair Folk don't give back what they take."

"No," Julian said, his voice gentle, and Fionn wondered how he could be so gentle when it was obvious he must feel like screaming and flying apart into a thousand pieces. Fionn could respect his self-control, that was for sure. "But sometimes they give you back what belongs to you."

Ty said nothing. His hands were still fluttered in their repetitive movements. Fionn had a feeling that trying to stop the Blackthorn's hands would be disastrous, and Julian - the eldest sibling and father figure of the Blackthorns - didn't stop it. He just said everyone got butterflies when they were nervous; some people got them in their stomachs, and Ty showed it in his hands. Ty had been pleased by that. He loved moths, butterflies, bees - anything with wings.

Fionn gripped his wrist with his hand, clenching down on his gauntlet that his Io was stored in. When Kieran was little, he had told him the story of how humans had butterflies in their stomachs that hatched whenever the human in question got nervous. Kieran had been skeptical, but Fionn had been insistent. Though Fionn had never confirmed it aloud - because it wouldn't be the truth - Kieran had started to fear that whenever he got nervous, there were bugs in his stomach, hatching. He had become slightly paranoid, but Kieran had fought through it. He claimed he was going to destroy the offending insects. And that was how Kieran learned to suppress the urge to show his fear. For better or worse, the tale had helped Fionn teach his brother to be brave and to never show his terror.

It was only later that Fionn had confirmed that it had just been a human saying from Lock. Fionn himself had been unsure of it, embarrassingly enough. Humans were unpredictable, it was hard to say when they were telling the truth or not.

"He doesn't look like I remember," a tiny voice said.

"Drusilla and Octavian - Dru and Tavvy," Hunter whispered to Fionn.

It was Dru who had spoken, who had edged into the room between Selina and Cristina. She was holding hands with Tavvy.

"Well, Mark _is_ five years older now," Emma pointed out.

"He doesn't look older," Dru said. "He just looks different."

There was silence. Dru was right. Mark didn't look older, certainly not five years older. Partly because he was so thin, but there was more to it than that.

"He's been in Faerie all these years," Julian said. "And time…time works differently there."

Ty stepped forward. His gaze raked the bed, examining his brother. Drusilla hung back. She'd been eight when Mark had gone - Hunter couldn't imagine what her memories of him were like. Cloudy and blurred, probably. And as for Tavvy…Tavvy had been two. To him, the boy in the bed would be a total stranger. But Ty? Ty would remember. Ty moved closer to the bed, and they could almost see the quick mind working behind his gray eyes.

"That would make sense," he said. "There are all sorts of stories about people vanishing for a night with the faeries and coming back to find a hundred years have passed. Five years could have been like two years for him. He looks about the same ages as you, Jules."

Julian cleared his throat. "Yeah. Yeah he does."

"That's wrong," Fionn said. He couldn't help it. He couldn't stay silent any longer. "Faerie time fluctuates, but it can't fluctuate hundreds of years. Also, Mark has seen many more than five years. It is simply the enchantment of the Hunt and his presence in Faerie augmenting his faerie blood to slow his internal clock that…begets the result you see today."

The Shadowhunters stared at him, and Fionn hadn't felt this exposed since he'd last spoken with his father in front of the entire Court - declaring to them as well as Gwyn that he would be following Kieran to the Wild Hunt. If Gwyn had denied him the right to follow Kieran, he would've been embarrassed and shamed and horrified at the prospect of losing his brother, right then and there. Fionn's entire life had revolved around Kieran - it wasn't a surprise when he and Kieran had ended up with the same eyes when they had joined the Wild Hunt. Kieran was Fionn's entire life, his only reason to live and fight and survive. At least until he'd met Hunter.

Ty and Livvy both had matching looks of betrayal, staring at Fionn, and he knew that they weren't happy with seeing him. Just as he predicted, they were angry at Fionn for taking Mark away from them even though it had been beyond Fionn's control. In the end, though, it was Dru who acted.

"You evil faerie!" she snapped, and everyone except probably Tavvy guessed she wanted to say something a _lot_ worse than that - but again, Tavvy was in the room. "Why bring him back now? After _all_ this time?! _You_ took him away! You-"

"Stand back," Hunter demanded, stepping in front of Fionn to be between Dru and the faerie in their secluded corner of the room. Fionn was surprised, but Hunter was firm. "This is not his fault - he's the one that brought your brother _back_ to you. I'm not asking you to be grateful, I'm just asking you to cut him some slack. He doesn't deserve your wrath, he's here because he was ordered to be and he won't be a problem if you don't let him be."

"Why are _you_ so protective?" Emma demanded. "I understand you're not a Cold Peace supporter, but you just _met_ him. He's from the Wild Hunt, the people who've _enslaved_ Mark for all these years."

Fionn put his hand on Hunter's shoulder. "Hunter, it is okay."

Hunter looked ready to protest. "Fae-"

Fionn gently pushed past Hunter and then held his arms out. "Do with me what pleases you. The situation is far from ideal, and I know that your love for Mark stretches beyond anything I can imagine." Fionn's head lowered. "But Mark is my friend, a trusted ally in battle, and who I have come to consider a brother. I see now that I am not his _blood_ brother, and nothing can compare. I will take the blame for all that has occurred to your family, if that will make Mark's loved ones feel any amount of justice to those who have wronged him."

"He didn't do anything!" Hunter protested. "He _helped_ Mark in the Hunt, he's _benevolent_ compared to the others-"

"Hunter," Fionn snapped.

Hunter grunted in frustration but dropped his gaze, stepping back.

"He called you 'Hunter,'" Cristina noticed. "Does he…do you know each other?"

Fionn hesitated, looking back to Hunter for permission. This was it. Their little world of secrets was being destroyed, everything that they'd had together for nearly a decade now was no longer just theirs. It shouldn't have been as painful as it was. It was unceremonious, it had been coming for a while now, and yet for some reason, it was hard to get the words out.

"We know each other," Hunter confirmed. "We've known each other since long before the Dark War. I trust him. I trust him completely."

"You said you had a faerie informant," Julian recalled, not turning around as he continued to stare at Mark. "You, despite not being a Centurion or the Silent Brothers or anything high up like that, were allowed to pursue a case about faeries in California."

"Yeah. This is my informant, though the two of us have never known each other's real names before now. The information he gave me helped in convincing the Clave that me and my parabatai could handle this little threat. That and my skills with my seraph violin and doing a little lying to make them think that I'm more than a dedicated Shadowhunter with no compassion for the Fair Folk."

"How did you do that?" Fionn wondered. "Hiding your feelings has rarely been a skill within your arsenal."

"Hey, I've gotten better at my acting, thank you very much," Hunter said, crossing his arms.

Fionn smiled. "We shall see."

"He's a good faerie?" Tavvy asked.

"Not a good faerie, little one," Fionn corrected. "But my benevolence shall prove superior to a great deal of my kinsman."

The young boy stared, blinking up at Fionn in confusion.

"A good faerie," Fionn conceded.

Hunter laughed at the scene.

"You brought Mark back to us?" Ty asked. "Why?"

"I…"

Fionn wasn't sure how the Blackthorns wanted to explain the situation. He knew enough about human manners to know that it was cruel to tell the children who were looking at him with wide eyes that the lost brother who appeared to have been returned to them forever might be here only temporarily. He saw a young Kieran in their eyes - particularly the youngest one's: Tavvy. It brought guilt to the forefront of his mind, guilt about who had been to his brother for so long. These children were all connected in a web of love. The only thing that had connected Kieran and Fionn growing up was a need for survival. Had they ever really been tied by love? _Surely_ they must have. Surely…

"He's bleeding," Dru said.

"What?" Julian demanded.

Julian tapped the witchlight lamp at the side of the bed and the glow in the room intensified to a hot brightness. There was a collective gasp across the room. The side of Mark's ragged white T-shirt, at his shoulder, was red with blood - a patch that was slowly spreading.

"Stele," Julian barked, holding out his hand.

He was already pulling at his brother's shirt, baring his shoulder and collarbone, where a half-healed gash had opened. Blood was trickling from the wound, not fast, but Tavvy made an inarticulate sound of distress.

Fionn cursed in a faerie language. "I nearly forgot."

Emma pulled her stele from her belt and threw it. She didn't say anything, she didn't need to. Julian's hand came up and he caught it out of the air. He bent to press the tip to Mark's skin, to begin the healing rune but Mark screamed. His eyes flew open, bright and crazed, and he thrashed out at the air with his stained, dirty, bloody hands.

"Get it _away_," he snarled, struggling upright. "Get it away, get that thing _away from me!_"

"Mark-"

Julian reached for his brother, but Mark batted him away. He might have been thin, but he was strong; Julian stumbled, and Emma felt it like a burst of pain in the back of her head. She dashed forward, putting herself between the two brothers.

"Move away!" Fionn demanded, rushing up to push the two Shadowhunters away.

Mark's eyes were wide and white with fear, his hand clutched to his chest where the elf-bolt that Kieran had given him rested. It was the only weapon he had on him at the moment, an instinctive move that Fionn had seen a hundred times. Mark hurled himself off the bed, his body jerking, hands and feet scrabbling at the hardwood.

"Move _back_," Julian said to his siblings, not shouting, but his voice quick and authoritative.

They scrambled away, scattering. Fionn caught a glimpse of Tavvy's unhappy face as Dru lifted him off his feet and carried him out of the room. Mark had darted into the corner of the bedroom, where he froze, his hands wrapped around his knees, his back pressed hard to the wall. Julian started after his brother, then stopped, the stele dangling helplessly from his hand.

"Don't touch me with that," Mark demanded.

His voice was recognizable to his family, very cold and precise, and shockingly at odds with the filthy scarecrow look of him. He held them at bay with his glare.

"What's wrong with him?" Livvy asked in a near whisper.

"The stele," Fionn explained. "Particularly before coming here, I made him fear it."

"You did _what?_" Julian hissed, gripping the stele in his hand.

Fionn walked over to Mark and held his hand over the injury. "Iarlath demanded I do terrible things, I had little choice in the matter. Now I can perhaps make amends."

His hand glowed and he tapped into his small magic reserves. After trying to heal Arthur Blackthorn, he didn't have a lot left to give, but he poured all he could into the healing spell. He had cut across the Agony rune on Mark's shoulder that he had previously placed in order to hide the evidence of using a stele in the first place. Mark had been healed by Fionn before, and so he tried to relax through the tingling feeling of his wound being healed.

"But why? _How?_" Emma wondered in shock. "How can a Shadowhunter be afraid of a stele?"

"You call me afraid?" demanded Mark. "Insult me again and find your blood spilled, girl."

"Mark, still yourself, quench your rage," Fionn ordered.

"Can you not hear this child's words?" Mark snapped.

"Mark, this is _Emma_," Julian said. "Emma Carstairs."

Mark pressed himself farther back into the wall. "Lies. Lies and dreams. What have I done, Fionn, to deserve such torment?"

"You have done nothing, Mark."

Mark stared at him. "You do not call me Mark. You _cannot_ be Fionn!"

He swatted Fionn's hand away, but Fionn grabbed his wrist. "I am uncomfortable with your title of Mark as well, Miach, but I am honoring your family's desires. You are Mark to them, and so you will be Mark to me."

Mark stared at him. "You…you cannot be…"

"Believe me or not, Mark, but I am Fionn Flann Kingson and I will use a stele on you if I must to snap you back to your senses."

"You cannot use a stele, delusional faerie."

Fionn said nothing and pressed hard on Mark's wound, sending a pulse of healing magic through him that caused him to hiss in discomfort. "This is no illusion, Mark, and I am far from delusional. It is you who cannot seem to locate your wits. Calm yourself, or I shall send my hounds to punish you as you seem to desire. Your family is here, they wish to speak with you, and you cannot lose your composure so easily. Deep breaths, relax your muscles, and _listen_."

Fionn nodded to the Blackthorn boy - Julian - for him to go ahead. Where the boy might have been distrusting of Fionn under normal circumstances, now he worked with Fionn willingly if it meant helping his brother.

Julian came forward carefully. "I'm Julian. Your brother, Julian. And that's Tiberius."

Mark seemed pained by just the idea that his brothers would be mentioned in his presence, hissing as though Julian had touched him with a hot iron. "_My brother Tiberius is a child!_" Mark shouted, suddenly livid, his hands clawing behind him at the wall. "He is a _little boy!_"

"Miach!" Fionn snapped.

Mark closed his eyes as though to make it all go away. Fionn knew that the hallucinogens he had constantly been given during the beginning of his stay in Faerie and during the trip to the Institute had shown him terrible images of his family being killed, slaughtered, but he hadn't really comprehended the pain it must have caused Mark. He hadn't _wanted_ to comprehend it. Mark had been led to believe that his family was dead by Meliorn, and when he had learned they were alive again, he then learned that the Shadowhunters, the Clave, refused to look for him. The life of a Shadowhunter was always dangerous, and with so many siblings to care for, it was no surprise that worrying over them all had nearly driven Mark mad, and why the idea that his siblings had changed without him was more terrifying than any beast that had threatened his life.

"I'm not," Ty said quietly, his hands fluttering at his sides, pale butterflies in the dim light. "I'm not a child."

Mark said nothing. Tears slid out from beneath his closed eyelids, tracking down his face, mixing with the dirt. Fionn sighed and leaned close to Mark's ear, whispering a small melody, singing as lightly as possible.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked quietly.

"Hunter, a calming melody, if you would?" Fionn answered instead.

Hunter blinked, just realizing Fionn was talking to him. "Oh, right, me. Sure."

He grabbed his seraph violin and started playing a soft melody.

"I am putting him to sleep," Fionn finally explained.

"Everyone out of the room," Selina announced. "When Mark wakes up, I don't think he's going to be in a good mood if he sees you all here. Can't you all tell that this is tormenting him? This is far too overwhelming. You can't expect him to be instantly fine after years with the Wild Hunt in Faerie. To the hall. Now."

"You go," Julian said, looking at Mark. "I'll stay here.

Cristina shook her head. "No, Selina's right." She was apologetic, but firm. "_All_ of us." She paused as Julian hesitated. "Please."

Cristina crossed the room and opened the door. One by one, the Blackthorns filed out of the room. Fionn picked up Mark and moved him back to the bed, setting him down gently.

"He knows me from the Hunt," Fionn said. "I will try to explain to him the situation when he awakens. Rage at me all you wish, but Iarlath had me do much to warp his mind, and only I can ever hope to undo the damage."

Emma glanced to Hunter. "You really trust him?"

Hunter nodded. "With my life."

Fionn felt a pang in his chest at hearing that, but kept his eyes on Mark. It took a few moments of hesitation before he heard the door close gently behind him. And he was left alone with the sleeping Mark Blackthorn.

-**_TTOT_**-

"I don't know," Julian said immediately as the door clicked shut. "Leaving him in there with that faerie-"

"It's his room and like it or not that faerie wants to help," Cristina interjected.

The others except Selina and Hunter stared at her, amazed at how she could be so calm.

"But he doesn't remember his room," Livvy said, looking agitated. "He doesn't remember…_anything_. Leaving him alone with-"

"We trust that faerie completely," Selina insisted. "He promised he wouldn't manipulate Mark to want to return to the Hunt so long as we don't force his hand to stay here. He wants this to be Mark's decision, and as far as I'm concerned, I see that he cares more about Mark than you're all giving him credit for. He's been more hospitable than any of you - trying to tell him that you're his long lost family and expecting him to adjust back to the Nephilim life instantly. Give him time, try and help him adjust, and find a way to prove that you're his siblings in a way that no illusion ever could."

"He remembers you," Finn assured them. "It's just that everything he remembers has changed."

"_We_ haven't," Livvy insisted.

She looked so woebegone that Emma pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, which was no mean feat since Livvy was only an inch shorter than her. "Oh, you have. We _all_ have. And so has Mark."

Ty looked agitated. "But the room is dusty. We threw out his things. He'll think we forgot him, that we don't care."

Julian winced. "I kept his things. They're in one of the storerooms on the ground floor."

"Good." Cristina brought her hands together sharply. "He'll need them. And more. Clothes to replace the ones he's wearing. Anything of his that was kept. Anything that'll seem familiar. Photos, or things he might remember."

"We can get those," Livvy volunteered. "Me and Ty."

Ty looked relieved to have been given a specific task. He and Livvy headed downstairs, their voices a low murmur. Julian, looking after them, exhaled raggedly - mingled tension and relief.

"Thanks for giving them something to do," he said.

Emma reached out to squeeze Cristina's hand. She felt oddly proud, as if she wanted to point to Cristina and say, '_Look! My friend knows exactly what to do!_'

"Until then, none of the Blackthorns or Emma is allowed to interact with Mark," Selina recommended. "At least don't interact with him too forcefully. Don't overwhelm him with your expectations of him. It's those expectations that are probably going to hurt you all the most. He needs time to recover, to begin to recognize this world and his life again."

"Do you study this stuff?" Cristina wondered. "I mean, _I_ do. Faeries and the results of the Cold Peace. Of course the Folk have returned him to you with demands, that is part of their cruelty. It takes time to readjust to this life, but they would thrust him back into it as if it would be easy for him to be a Shadowhunter again."

"And they knew that you and your Shadowhunter pride would only make things worse," Finn concluded. "You'd insist he was a Shadowhunter and nothing but a Shadowhunter and that this was the only life he had ever lived. You've made it _worse_, just like they wanted."

"With a faerie as a friend, of course I study this stuff," Selina said. "Got nothing else to do when Finn is occupied with his boyfriend."

Finn shoved her in irritation, but couldn't help the light blush that came to his face. He had never liked using the word 'boyfriend.' It didn't sound right, even now. He still couldn't avoid blushing whenever Fae had used the word 'lover,' but he had been trying to adjust to it for Fae's sake and because he wanted to have _something_ to call each other. Selina, though very changed from having Seline taken out of her or made dormant or whatever, was still trying to cheer him up, at least. She hadn't changed _that_ much, to his relief.

Julian leaned back against the wall beside the door, dark fire in his eyes, banked under his lowered eyelids. "They injured him. Why?"

"So you would do what you did," Selina guessed. "So you would get a stele."

He cursed, short and harsh. "So I would see what they did to him, how he hates me?"

"He doesn't hate you," Cristina insisted. "He hates himself. He hates that he is Nephilim, because they would have taught that to him. Hate for hate. They are an old people and that is their idea of justice."

"They did what you all did to Fae," Finn said. "I mean…_Fionn_. Even though he cares about Mark, even though he's more benevolent than the rest of his kind, you had to pin the blame on _someone_. The blame for Mark being taken away, the blame for not being allowed to find him, the blame for the Cold Peace, and everything else that's happened. Back in Faerie, I can only assume how the faeries must've treated Mark because he had Shadowhunter blood. They blamed him for the Cold Peace, they blamed him for any misfortune that Shadowhunters ever placed upon him. The only way to survive was to deny he was a Shadowhunter."

"_I never cared about his genes_," Fae had once said. "_In fact, because of you, his Shadowhunter blood attracted my attention. I wanted to protect him, even when I had no reason. Perhaps my reason was because he had the blood of your kind, the blood of your people. In a way, he was your kin, and so I wanted to love him as I love you. Silly, perhaps, but valid within my own mind._"

"How is Mark?" It was Diana, emerging at the top of the stairs and hurrying towards them, her skirts whispering around her ankles. "Is someone in there with him?"

As Julian explained what happened, Diana listened silently. She was buckling on her weapons belt. She had put on boots, and her hair was tied back, a leather satchel slung over her shoulder. She was going somewhere, Finn noted, but where?

"Hopefully he can rest," Diana said when Julian finished. "I'll take your word that you trust this faerie, Finnegan, Selina. But should he misbehave, you will take the blame. He's your responsibility from now on."

"We're well aware," Selina said.

Diana nodded. "Kieran said the journey here took them two days through Faerie, no sleep, he's probably exhausted. Like it or not, it seems that the faerie knew what had happened to Mark and knew how to help. We have to trust him."

"Kieran?" Emma repeated. "It's weird calling gentry faeries by their first names. He _is_ gentry, right?"

Diana nodded. "Kieran's a prince of Faerie; he didn't say so, but it's obvious. Iarlath is from the Unseelie Court, not a prince, but some sort of Court member. You can tell."

"Fionn in there and Kieran are brothers, right?" Cristina remembered. "That means that Fionn is a prince too. If he's willing to open up, he might have some answers about Faerie and the Unseelie Court that could be useful to us."

Julian glanced towards the door of his brother's room. "I should go back in there-"

"No," Diana said firmly. "You and Emma are going to Malcolm Fade's." She fished into her satchel and came out with the faerie documents that Kieran had given to her earlier. Up close, Finn saw that they were two sheets of parchment, thin as onion skin. The ink on them looked as if it had been carved there. "Take this to him, see what he can make of it."

"_Now?_" Emma asked in surprise. "But-"

"Now," Diana said flatly. "The Folk have given you - given _us_ \- three weeks. Three weeks with Mark to solve this. Then they take him back."

"Three _weeks?_" Julian echoed. "That's not nearly enough time."

"I could go with them," Cristina offered.

"I need you here, Cristina," Diana said. "Someone has to watch over Mark and the faerie. You too, Finnegan, since he's under your supervision. It can't be one of the children. Selina, you should go with Emma and Julian since you've proven to be able to translate these. I know it's not ideal to separate you from your parabatai, but I need you in two different places at once. If Fionn can translate these, then he should, ideally, go with you as well, but he's the only one that can fix what the faeries did to Mark, help him adjust quicker. I can't stay either, I have to go."

"Go where?" Emma demanded.

Diana only shook her head, unforthcoming. It was a familiar wall that Emma had crashed into more than once. "It's important. You'll have to trust me."

Julian said nothing. Diana's aloofness bothered him as much, if not more, than it bothered Emma, but he never showed it.

"But this changes things," Emma said, fighting down the emotion in her voice, the spark of relief, even triumph, that she knew she shouldn't feel. "Because of Mark. Because of Mark, you're willing to let us try to find out who did this."

"Yes." For the first time since she'd come into the hallway, Diana looked directly at Emma. "You must be pleased. You got exactly what you wanted. We've got no choice now. We'll have to investigate these killings, and we'll have to do it without the knowledge of the Clave."

"I didn't _make_ this happen," Emma protested.

"No situation in which you have no choice is a good one, Emma. Which you will eventually learn. I only hope it isn't too late. You might think this is a good thing that's happened, but I can assure you it isn't." She turned away from Emma, fixing her attention on Julian. "As you well know, Julian, this is an illegal investigation. The Cold Peace forbids cooperation with the Fair Folk, and certainly forbids what amounts to working _for_ them, no matter the inducement. It's to our advantage to figure this out as quickly and cleanly as we can, so the Clave has as little opportunity as possible to find out what we're doing."

"And when it's done?" Julian asked. "And Mark's back? How do we explain that?"

"The Clave forbade you guys from _seeking out_ your brother, correct?" Finn asked. "Well did the terms state that Mark couldn't come back to you of his own free will?"

Diana nodded. "It's a longshot, but so is a lot of what we're doing. We'll worry about that when it happens."

"So we're racing the Clave and the Courts," Julian summarized. "Fantastic. Maybe there's someone else we can piss off. The Spiral Labyrinth? The Scholomance? Interpol?"

"No one pissed off yet," Selina pointed out. "Let's just try and keep it that way."

Diana handed the papers to Emma. "Just to be clear: We can't cooperate with the Fair Folk and we can't harbor Mark without reporting it, except obviously we're going to, so the upshot is that no one outside the building can know. And I refuse to lie to the Clave directly, so hopefully we can get this done before they start asking questions." She looked at them each in turn, her expression serious. "We have to work together. Emma, no more fighting me. Cristina, if you want to be reassigned to another Institute, we'll understand. We'd just ask you to keep this to yourself."

Emma gasped. "No!"

Cristina was already shaking her head. "I don't need a new assignment. I will keep your secret. I will make it my secret too."

"Good," Diana nodded. "Finnegan, Selina?"

"Finn's in cahoots with a faerie in there," Selina pointed out. "We both are. If anyone finds out the things that we've been hiding, we'll be in deep shit just like the rest of you. We're in too deep to get out. Besides, we have orders to investigate faeries for the Clave. Until we get a confirmed report that those orders have been rescinded, we might still prove useful. We want to help with these murders, and we've got just as much to lose as you. This secret stays between us as our secrets stay that way too."

"Speaking of keeping things secret, don't tell Malcolm how we got our hands on these papers. Don't mention Mark, don't mention the faerie delegation. If he says anything, he'll have me to deal with."

"Malcolm's our friend," Julian insisted. "We can trust him."

"I'm trying to make sure he doesn't get in trouble if anyone finds out. He needs to be able to deny it." She zipped up her jacket. "Okay, I'll be back tomorrow. Good luck. Finnegan, Selina, you're the only adults here. I'm trusting you to handle any issues that arise and report them to me."

"Yes ma'am," the two answered in sync.

"Hey! They're only a couple years older than us," Emma protested. "How are _they_ considered adults?"

"Because we're still older and wiser," Finn answered with a smile.

"Threatening the High Warlock," Julian muttered as Diana disappeared down the hall. "Better and better. Maybe we should head down to vampire clan headquarters and punch Anselm Nightshade in the face?"

"But think of the consequences," Emma said. "No more pizza."

Julian gave her a wry sideways-looking smile.

"I could always go to Malcolm's with just Selina," Emma offered. "You could stay here, Jules, wait for Mark to…"

She didn't finish. She wasn't sure she knew what exactly they were waiting for Mark to do, that _any_ of them knew. She looked to Finn, as the resident adult apparently.

"Wait for him to wake up," Finn tried. "Once he's up, then someone needs to try and help him adjust. Fae…_Fionn_ can make sure that he trusts that this is real, but he needs someone to help with the transfer back to the Nephilim world."

"No," Julian said. "Malcolm trusts me. I know him the best. I can convince him to keep this secret." He straightened up. "We'll all go."

"The adults are splitting up," Selina said. "When we were little and I said that I wanted children, this was _not_ what I had in mind."

"I know what you mean," Finn said. "I wanted a Finnegan Jr!"

She shoved him. "If he was anything like _you_ as a child, you probably wouldn't last two seconds as a father."

He gasped dramatically. "How _dare_ you? I was the epitome of grace."

"The epitome of sulking and self-deprecation, perhaps."

"Being self-deprecating means being self-aware and accepting of one's weaknesses, which is never a bad thing."

"It is if you started to become self-sabotaging."

As they continued their friendly banter, Emma caught Cristina's hand. "We'll make it back as fast as we can. You'll be alright?"

Cristina nodded. Her hand was at her throat, her fingers resting on her necklace. "I will watch over Mark. I'm far from alone in the task. It will be all right. _Everything_ will be all right."

And Emma almost believed her.

* * *

**Chapter title: "_Be Alright_" by Sean Lewis**


	5. Love Me Today, Don't Leave Me Tomorrow

***On Saturday* "Okay, I have to post the next chapter tomorrow." *On Sunday* "I had something to do today…oh yeah! continue writing that other story that's not ready to post!"**

**The world is stressful, I needs a break, hep meh hep meh. This story is so cheesy, I need to get to the point already. *Hasn't made any progress in the story for the past two updates aka a month and probably won't for another month***

**CHAPTER NAMING IS THE HARDEST SPORT IN EXISTENCE**

**Enjoy and stuff :P**

* * *

Finn peeked into Mark's room carefully.

"Fae?"

The faerie looked up at him from Mark. He stood, lowering his eyes to the floor as though he was about to be scolded by his parents. "Hunter, I am sorry for what has occurred. My hand was…" He sighed. "Though Iarlath commanded me to do my acts towards Mark, I could have chosen to disobey him. Mark's condition is my burden to bear."

"I shouldn't be the one you're apologizing to."

He flinched. "I…might I request your aid in giving my apologies to the Blackthorn family? I…I do not believe I am equipped to do so alone."

Finn walked over to him. "First off, why don't you do some explaining to me? What happened after you stormed out of Lock's apartment?"

"The memory is hazy. I believe I rode to Faerie, intent on slaying the nearest Astrals I could find, no matter how weak and insignificant. But then I heard my brother's voice, Kieran. His voice pierced through the darkness, the haze, and I regained my wits. At that time, I was taken to the Wild Hunt and Iarlath to begin the operation and only managed to reach you and the others-"

"When Iarlath went to the Sepulchre and encountered Emma. Right, that much I'd figured out."

"Tell me…where is fair Helen?"

"Hm?"

"At first, I assumed that Emma Carstairs was Helen Blackthorn by her fair hair, yet I quickly eliminated that theory from her lack of fey appearance and her name being announced. I heard of Julian, Tiberius, Livia, Drusilla, Octavian, but no Helen. Helen was Mark's most beloved sister who shared both parentage, blood, adoration for their younger siblings, but most of all…the damnation of you Nephilim."

Finn's gaze dropped. "Helen…she's been exiled. They say that it's just going to study wards, but we all know the truth. She was sent to Wrangel Island, and her wife, Aline Penhallow, followed her. They're together, at least, and Julian has been appealing to the Clave every year to try and change the Clave's mind."

"I see. Helen. Julian. Tiberius. Livia. Drusilla. Octavian. Miach-" He cursed. "_Mark_," he said firmly. "Mark would name the stars after his siblings each night. He failed to mention Emma Carstairs, however it seems that she is also an important member of his family. But what of Cristina?"

"Oh, Cristina Rosales. She's on her travel year, staying with the Blackthorns."

"And you? Are you much the same?"

"Me?" He chuckled. "No. Me and Selina were given an order to track down that faerie group that you and I discovered. We're to be discreet about it though. We were to go to all the Institutes in California and see what information they had, and the Blackthorn's Institute in Los Angeles was the last place on our list. In the end, we were ordered to team up with them because they're the main Institute in Southern California while the San Francisco Institute is the main Institute in Northern California. Unfortunately, it seems things have spiraled out of control."

"I did not expect to meet you with the Blackthorns. Something simply told me fate would bring us together, for better or worse."

"I knew you had your Blackthorn operation with Mark, but…guess I never thought that it'd be so soon."

"Well…it seems we must…break the barriers we have worked so hard to preserve."

Finn chuckled. "Introductions are in order then." He held out his hand. "I'm Finnegan Scion of the San Francisco Institute, parabatai to Selina Dalmasca, son of Lyle and Ellesmira Scion, younger twin of Merida Scion - only by a couple seconds though. I'm the first Shadowhunter to have ever used a violin as a weapon - well maybe Jem smacked something with his violin once, who knows? - though I think I'm the first Shadowhunter to have a seraph violin that can transform into a guitar. I'm an expert on the seraph violin and guitar, but I also play piano and possibly drums or woodwinds, but don't expect it to be pretty. A lyre, too."

Fae smiled. "I can play woodwinds, lyre, and I have learned a small bit of guitar and piano from you."

Finn shook his head. "Do it like _I_ did! Name please."

Fae looked nervous. "Fionn Flann Kingson of the Wild Hunt, son of the Unseelie King and a water nixie you would not know of, elder brother to Kieran Kingson. I am the only faerie to have mastered the weapon Io and tame the horse Zoltan. I appear to also be an Astral, the Inferian Phoenix, though I will not claim to understand my origins fully. I am in love with a Shadowhunter and have pledged my heart to him and him alone, though will not protest should he chose another lover."

"Fae, how many times do I have to tell you that I don't do non-monogamous relationships?"

"The offer remains open, Hunter."

He sighed. "Whatever."

"You found my name quite humorous last you heard it. I assumed…I assumed you did not…I assumed it would be facetious."

"It was probably the stress getting to me at the time, but I guess our names just suddenly felt so insignificant to what was happening. We're going to be in a shit-load of trouble if this ever gets out. We don't have deniability anymore. So, the laughter just sprung to the surface. Your name is a _letter_ off from mine. I mean, my mom gave me and my sister Scottish names, but wow. If that's a coincidence, I don't know what else to expect. Not to mention your second name or middle name or whatever, Flann? That's a dessert. I quite like flann, especially when Merida makes it, but it just doesn't seem right that you, big tough faerie of the Wild Hunt, would be named after something I eat when I'm having an attack of the sweet tooth."

"Fionn Flann represents my hair," Fionn explained. He shifted it to be a honey color. "Fionn." It darkened to a blood red. "Flann." He relaxed and it naturally became a light amber. "Fionn and Flann mean blonde and red-haired respectively. And Fionn is many letters off from Finnegan."

"But my nickname is Finn. F-I-N-N."

"In any case, Fionn Flann is not the name I was born with, simply the title that I prefer."

"Really? You have another name? I mean, besides your _true_ name, of course."

He nodded. "It is not a name I am proud of, however. It is a reminder of the Court, how my family used it in jest against me, and…how I failed my mother. It is a cursed title, one that I deserve and yet deny."

"Fae…"

He shook his head. "We will have to break the habit of using our aliases."

Finn walked up and pulled him into a kiss, hearing a surprised noise escape the faerie's lips before he closed his eyes and reciprocated. Finn knew it was a risk. That last time he'd kissed Fae he had given him a disease that had nearly killed him and drove him insane. But he had been too worried over Fae, caught up in this nonsense and chaos with the Blackthorns, and he needed relief. Just a moment of forgetting everything else but Fae.

"I'm just fine with either one," he whispered. "It's a nickname between the two of us. Something special."

"What of Lock, Pyre, and Wolf?"

He shrugged. "No offense to them, but you're a little more important to me."

"I should hope so."

Finn gave him one more quick kiss before turning to Mark. "What did you do to him? Honestly?"

"I used the Agony rune, then sliced away the evidence in order to make Mark afraid of the stele once more," Fae admitted.

Finn sighed. "No wonder he was terrified. All a stele has given him recently is pain. If your Agony rune is anything like your Iratze…"

"Iratze and Agony are two runes with opposite effects."

"You know what I mean. I think. Your Iratze was more powerful than any Iratze I'd ever received, even from my parabatai. It's probably because of your Astral origins. An Agony rune is used for interrogations, I've seen its effects during the Dark War when it was used on Circle members for torture. If you used a buffed up version of it, I can only imagine the fear that Mark has of a stele."

"Often has the Hunt used torture methods upon him to keep him complacent during his time of rebellion. He believed he was being punished when he did nothing to warrant such treatment."

"This is Iarlath's fault, not yours. Right now, we need to stop focusing on the past and figure out what he hopes to accomplish by making this deal, going against the Cold Peace. Finding a murderer is all well and good, but risking losing Mark…"

"It think it is quite clear he cares little for Mark's health."

"By giving us this assignment, we're cut off from help from the Clave and in danger of being exposed. That's bad enough, but if Iarlath has something else planned, we may be pushed over the edge of no return."

"He is stirring. I suggest you make your exit before his twisted mind can process you as a danger to his safety."

Finn looked at Mark, confused at how Fae could tell, but Fae knew Mark better. He assumed that Mark knew how to pretend he was asleep, so Finn decided he would follow Fae's instructions.

"Try and get him back. Ty and Livia are getting his things, Cristina's just outside if you need her."

Fae nodded. "I will handle him as best I can. A warped mind is at no fault, however…"

Finn kissed him quickly before heading to the door and slipping out.

"How is he?" Cristina asked.

"Just stirring, but he's still gonna be scared out of his mind. "Fae, _Fionn_, is going to do what he can. I'm gonna go get some food. Never a bad thing, might break the ice. Since you've never met Mark, maybe he'll react better to you than his siblings, but if you want to talk to him, use discretion."

Cristina nodded. "Understood."

His phone started to ring and he pulled it out from his pocket. "Selina?"

"_I came up with an excuse for the info we got. Just wanted to make sure you and the others were informed._"

"Wait, are you driving and talking on the phone, Seels? That's illegal."

"_By mundane standards_."

"Well it should be illegal for Shadowhunters too."

"_Just shut up and listen_."

_**-TTOT-**_

Being a High Warlock paid well, Selina remembered when she saw Malcolm Fade's house. As if Lock's apartment wasn't lavish enough, if there was _any_ doubt that warlocks were loaded, here it was. Malcolm's house, however, wasn't just an apartment. It looked like a castle.

Malcolm lived up the highway from the Institute, past Kanan Dume Road. It was a spot where the bluffs rose high above, threaded with green sea grass. The house was shrouded by glamour spells, hiding it from mundanes. If you were driving - which Selina was - you had to look hard at a spot between two bluffs, and a silvery bridge that climbed up into the hills would appear.

It was surprising how difficult it was to be just Selina Dalmasca.

The beginning was the hardest, where her muscles didn't seem to want to work from an energy withdrawal of sorts. When she was at the beach, she heard the clopping of hoofbeats and the striking of thunder. She knew that it was Zoltan, Fae's horse, and she knew that he was near. He was coming to the Institute. He had left quickly, but she knew that it couldn't be long before he came back. She had rushed back to the Institute and to her room, fishing out the potion that Lock had given her, and took a deep breath before downing it.

Instantly, it had felt like she was drowning, the energy draining away from her and Seline being suppressed. It wasn't fun.

Selina had collapsed on her bed, and she knew she couldn't move. Her entire body was numb but in pain. It had lasted hours, and consequently, she had missed breakfast. Normally, that wasn't a problem for her. She had gone days without eating anything and had been fine, but only now did she learn that she had extra endurance and energy reserves because of Seline. She had grabbed a bagel from the kitchen and downed it before she had seen Julian sprinting through the halls to his room and then to Arthur's office.

At least now Selina was feeling better.

She wondered if Lock, or Veon rather, was at Malcolm's. Maybe he could help get her something to eat. Selina didn't quite trust Malcolm Fade, even if she certainly liked him based on first impressions. Seline's intuition hadn't liked him, but Selina wasn't allowed to know why. Selina felt in the dark, she felt insecure, and now she was without her parabatai.

She knew that Finnegan deserved some time with Fae, and that he had to look after the Blackthorns as the only other adult (and let's be honest, Diana didn't trust Julian and Emma alone), but Diana hadn't known about Selina's condition when she'd assigned the teams. Finn and Selina were mature enough to be without each other for a short amount of time, and normally it would be no problem - Selina let Finn go to the meetings grounds without her all the time, and who knows where they were? Since it took a portal to get there, the meeting grounds could be in China for all they knew (that was unlikely, but still).

Selina pulled over to the side of the highway. Lines of cars were parked along the sides of the PCH here, most of them surfers drawn by the wide beach to the west. Selina sighed and turned the car off. She had wanted to drive in order to get her mind off things, shoving Emma and Julian both in the backseat together so that she could have some alone time. Besides, she was the third wheel here - third parabatai without a parabatai. Emma and Julian had been silent in the backseat, however. Emma stared out the window, meanwhile Julian sat straight with his head back against the seat, his eyes closed, his fist clenched against the knee of his jeans. With everything happening with his brother, she couldn't blame him.

She opened the door and hopped out, but before she closed the door, she heard Julian speak for the first time the entire ride. "Emma, Mark thought I was my father."

Selina thought back, remembering that awful moment, the look of hope in his brother's eyes, a hope that had nothing to do with him.

"He didn't recognize me."

"He remembers you twelve," Emma said, trying her best to comfort her parabatai. "He remembers all of you as so young."

"And you, too."

"I doubt he remembers me at all."

He unsnapped his seat belt. Light sparked off the bracelet of sea glass he wore on his left wrist, turning it to bright colors: flame red, fire gold, Blackthorn blue.

"He does," he said. "No one could forget you."

Emma seemed taken back, but Julian was out of the car a second later and she fumbled to unbuckle herself and catch up. Selina slammed the driver side door closed and headed to the bridge leading to Malcolm's place. Honestly, the bridge was unnecessary, but useful in attacks, she supposed. Cut the rope and grounded enemies would be stuck. Flying opponents, not so much, but that was only about a third of the demons out there. Selina felt uncomfortable walking beside Julian, he didn't step with her like Finnegan did. Having a parabatai, being on the same wavelength, was comforting. She wanted that right now.

"The Fair Folk are tricksters," Julian said without turning. "They won't want to give Mark up; Faerie blood and Shadowhunter blood together, that's too valuable. There'll be some clause that'll allow them to take him back when we're done."

"Well, it's up to him," Emma said. "He gets to choose whether to stay or go."

Julian shook his head. "A choice seems simple, I know. But a lot of choices aren't simple."

They began to climb the stairs. The staircase was helical, twisting upwards through the hills. It was glamoured, only visible to supernatural creatures. Selina had always been in awe at how easily the mundanes were fooled, how they could speed by in their cars, entirely unaware that above them, something like a crystal staircase rose impossibly against the sky. Having the ability to see past even strong glamours all her life thanks to the Astral in her, Selina never knew what it was like to be fooled by a glamour before. Now she got dizzy if she lost her concentration and almost forgot the staircase was beneath her feet. You had to get used to certain things being glamoured, but despite knowing the staircase was there, her mind wasn't working at full capacity. Normally, once you had seen a staircase like this, it would never be invisible again.

Emma and Julian were both silent for the rest of the climb, and Selina wondered what the tension between the two of them was. For her and Finn, they wouldn't stop talking to each other, even if there was no point in talking. It made them both feel less alone, more connected to each other. Then again, maybe she and Finnegan's parabatai bond was different than Emma and Julian's. Perhaps silence was their way of communicating. A parabatai lived in your bones and brain and at the base of your spine, threaded all through you like veins or nerves. You didn't have to speak to know what the other was thinking. It just made Selina and Finn feel better to talk, an unspoken agreement to speak.

The staircase ended abruptly in a path to Malcolm's front door. You were meant to climb down, but Selina just jumped, feet landing on hard-packed dirt. A moment later, Emma and Julian were behind her. Julian was instantly reaching out to steady Emma, despite the fact that Emma was likely the better balanced of the two of them. An instinctive reflex of parabatai, a protective one. Emma glanced at him, but Julian didn't even seem aware they were touching. He moved away as the staircase behind them vanished back into its glamour.

Wow, if Selina didn't know any better, she'd say they needed couples counseling.

They were standing in front of two obelisks that thrust up out of the dusty ground, forming a gateway. Each was carved with alchemic symbols: fire, earth, water, air. The path that led up to the warlock's house was lined with desert plants: cactus, sagebrush, California lilacs, and bees buzzed among the flowers. The dirt turned to crushed seashells as they neared the brushed-metal front doors.

Emma knocked and the doors slid open with a near-silent hiss. The hallways inside Malcolm's house were white, lined with pop-art reproductions, snaking off in a dozen different directions.

"Down the hall," Julian announced. "Voices."

Selina was already moving forward by the time Julian had nudged Emma to get her attention and make his announcement. Even if Finnegan wasn't by her side, her hearing had slight enhancements just like his. Her thoughts had slightly shifted since becoming parabatai, causing her to always be listening for a rhythm to life, hearing the pitch and tone in people's voices, and hearing patterns to noises all around her.

Malcolm's living room was all steel and glass, entirely circular, giving out onto views of the sea. It looked like the sort of place a movie star might own - everything was modern, from the sound system that piped in classical music to the infinity-edged swimming pool that hung over the cliffs. Malcolm was sprawled on the long couch that ran the length of the room, his back to the Pacific. He wore a black suit, very plain and clearly expensive. He was nodding and smiling agreeably as two men in much the same kind of dark suits stood over him with briefcases in hand, speaking in low, urgent voices. The visitors were white men in their forties with nondescript faces.

Malcolm, seeing them, waved. He made a nonchalant gesture with his fingers and the two men froze in place, eyes staring blankly. Selina always marveled at the power of warlocks, what a luxury it would be to be able to flick your finger and do nearly everything. She had done a study of Downworlders for her free time, and she had been interested in both warlocks and faeries. Vampires were weird in the sense that they could turn into rats, but beyond that, they weren't very complicated. When warlocks had tales to tell about being immortal, she always wanted to hear. Perhaps that was why she found herself excited every time she talked to Lock - Veon.

"It always creeps me out when you do that," Emma said, walking up to one of the frozen men and poking him thoughtfully, causing him to tilt slightly.

"Don't break the movie producer," Malcolm requested. "I'd have to hide the body in the rock garden."

"You're the one who froze him," Julian said.

He sat on the arm of the couch with Emma slumping down onto the cushions beside him, feet on the coffee table. She wiggled her toes in their sandals. Selina stayed standing, surveying the room.

Malcolm blinked. "But how else am I meant to talk to you without them hearing?"

"You could ask us to wait till your meeting is over," Julian suggested. "It probably wouldn't be a major risk to any lives."

"You're Shadowhunters. It could always be life-or-death."

"He's got a point," Selina said. "If he can do it, why not? Freezing them isn't risking much either. There's no risk, _right?_" she asked, suddenly feeling worried.

"Not to my knowledge," Malcolm admitted.

"To your knowledge?"

Malcolm waved it off and sighed. "Well, I'm not sure I want the job. They're movie producers and they want me to cast a spell to ensure the success of their new release. But it looks terrible."

"How do you figure?" Selina asked.

He stared glumly at the poster on the sofa beside him. It showed several birds flying toward the viewer, with the caption _**EAGLE EXPLOSION THREE: FEATHERS FLY**_. Selina picked it up in confusion. She knew little about mundane movies, but ever since Finn had gotten access to the internet, she learned that mundanes liked either action, romance, or both. This looked to be a terrible example of it. But it _did_ remind her that she had to ask Veon about Netflix the next time she saw him - he had promised to help her and Finn set it up next time they went back to their Institute. They wanted to be updated on mundane culture, even if the Clave frowned upon technology. Hey, if mundanes got too advanced, Shadowhunters would start to have some new competition, right? Besides, even if you didn't try and pay too much attention to mundane culture, it was impossible to avoid in California.

"What in the Angel's name _is_ this?" Selina wondered aloud.

"Does anything happen in this movie that wasn't adequately covered in _Eagle Explosion One_ and _Two?_" Julian asked.

"More eagles," Malcolm offered.

"Whoa!" a voice screamed from nowhere.

There was a small flash and someone appeared about a meter off the couch before plummeting to land on Malcolm, annoying the warlock more than scaring him, and then the figure fell onto the floor between the coffee table and the couch.

"I _hate_ Shadowhunters," the figure grumbled.

"Something happen, Veon?" Malcolm asked.

The scaled warlock sat up, running his hands through his hair. He was wearing a dark purple vest over a white dress shirt with a subdued amount of sparkle today. His hair was inexplicably dyed green today so his hair looked like a sparkly Shamrock Shake from McDonald's, and his fingernails were glittered up today.

"Sometimes the kids at the Shadowhunter Academy are fun, sometimes they're Shadowhunters who think it's funny to toss me through a portal while I'm demonstrating how they work," Veon complained.

"And you were thinking of me at the time?" Malcolm crooned. "Aw, how thoughtful of you. But you could've tried appearing on the chair rather than the couch."

"Well, how was _I_ supposed to know you were lying on the couch at the time?" Veon whined, standing and brushing himself off. "In any case, I have a spell in play to freeze everyone in the room should I be forced out without consent. I'll deal with them later. This presents a nice opportunity for a break." He walked over and collapsed on the chair Malcolm had mentioned, right beside Selina, who sat on the arm of said chair. "So, what are you doing? And who are _these_ losers?"

"I'm going to assume you meant the movie producers," Julian said flatly.

"Ah, movie producers. What are they pitching this time?"

Selina handed over the poster. "Do you understand this?"

He took the poster and frowned. "Seriously? I mean, I get that eagles are cool, but not _movie_ worthy. Eagles and explosions are not something I recommend. And 'Feathers fly?' Tell me that someone older than seven wrote this and I won't believe you. It'd not only be terrible, it'd be cringy as hell. They're asking you to make it popular?"

Malcolm nodded. "Not sure if I'm gonna go for it."

"Does it _matter_ if it's terrible?" Emma asked. "Terrible movies do well all the time."

"It means a stronger spell," Malcolm explained. "More work for me. But it does pay well. And I've been thinking of installing a train in my house. It could bring me shrimp crackers from the kitchen."

"Lazy ass," Veon muttered. "You can just _snap_ shrimp crackers from the kitchen."

"Yes, but this will save magic."

"A train?" Julian questioned. "How big a train?"

"Small, medium. Like this." Malcolm gestured, low to the ground. "It would go 'choo-choo'-" He snapped his fingers to punctuate the noise, and the movie producers jerked into life. "Whoops," he said as they blinked. "Didn't mean to do that."

Veon put his hand to his face with a sigh. "The _one_ thing that activates his magic and he _still_ hasn't learned that there are other ways to emphasize his point," Veon muttered, his voice muffled by his palm.

Selina wasn't sure who was supposed to hear it, if anyone, but Malcolm didn't seem to, and Emma and Julian beside him didn't either. Selina smiled at the remark, suddenly feeling a small sense of specialness.

"Mr. Fade," said the older guy. "You'll consider our offer?"

Malcolm looked dispiritedly at the poster. "I'll get in touch."

The producers turned toward the front door, and the younger one jumped at the sight of Emma, Julian, Veon, and Selina. Selina could hardly blame him. From his perspective, they must have appeared out of thin air.

"Apologies for the intrusion," Veon said, crossing his legs in the chair. "Wasn't aware you had guests."

Selina smiled at the act, since the producers obviously knew that Veon was some kind of supernatural creature based on his scales, but they couldn't be sure what. They knew they were dealing with a warlock because of their deal, and yet the world of magic was so much deeper than they could possibly understand.

"Sorry gents," Malcolm said casually. "My niece and nephew along with my asshole of a brother and his wife."

The four people in question all frowned at him. The mundanes looked between all of them, clearly wondering how a pair who looked like they were barely old enough to drink (Veon and Selina) could possibly have a daughter and son in their teens. At least Veon and Selina looked around the same age, but beyond that, the lie was as crappy as the movie being pitched.

The older one shrugged. "Enjoy the beach," he said, and they marched out, brushing between Selina and Emma with a whiff of expensive cologne and the rattle of briefcases.

"Well that was fun," Veon said.

Malcolm stood up, listing a bit to one side - he had a slightly awkward way of walking that made Selina wonder if he'd once been injured and hadn't completely healed. "Everything all right with Arthur?"

Julian tensed almost imperceptibly. "The family's fine, thanks."

Malcolm's violet eyes, his warlocks mark, darkened before clearing like a sky briefly touched by clouds. His expression as he ambled over to the bar that ran along one wall and poured himself a glass of clear liquid was amiable. The violet eyes had been attractive to Seline (considering her own had been lavender), but now that she was free from the goddess, Selina found them very odd.

"Then what can I help you with?" Malcolm asked.

Emma set the copies of the papers the faeries had given them (they were smart and made copies for all parties that would be involved) on the coffee table. "You remember what we were talking about the other night…"

Malcolm put his glass aside and picked up the papers. "That demon language again. The one that was on that body you found in the alley, and on your parents' bodies…" He paused to whistle through his teeth. "Look at that," he said, stabbing his finger at the first page. "Someone's translated the first line. _Fire to water_."

"I did," Selina jumped in. "But thanks to the potion Veon gave me, I can't read them anymore."

Selina had explained the plan to Emma and Julian in the car, saying that she had a faerie curse on her that allowed her to read these dark runes, but in turn it meant trouble for her that she said she wouldn't speak about. It would be a good excuse about how they got the first line of the translation but couldn't translate the rest of it. She had called Finn to tell him about it and the rest of the Blackthorns in turn, but got chewed out for talking on the phone and driving.

She didn't admit it to Finn, but when he told her that, it made her realize that she had never been worried about that sort of stuff when she had an Astral to handle everything for her. Suddenly, Selina became afraid. It had started to sink in that she wasn't invincible anymore, she wasn't semi-omnipotent, and she was alone. She hadn't really felt the loss of Seline because she had still had Finn by her side, she still had her parabatai bond to fill the void - someone who was a part of her. Once she was driving away from him, she really _was_ alone.

She just focused on the task at hand, explaining the story to Malcolm and by extension Veon just because he was there. It wasn't planned, but it was still good to make sure that Veon knew about this too.

"It's a breakthrough, right?" Emma prodded.

Malcolm shook his bone-white head of hair. "Maybe, but I can't do anything with this. Not if it's a secret from Diana and Arthur. I can't get involved in something like that."

"It's fine with Diana," Emma said.

Malcolm gave her a dubious look.

"She's right," Selina said. "If you won't take my word, you can call her-"

She broke off as a man ambled into the room, his hands in his pockets. He looked about twenty, tall, with spiked black hair and cat's eyes. He wore a white suit that contrasted crisply with his brown skin. Man, warlocks and their ambling.

"Magnus!" Emma exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

As both the High Warlock of Brooklyn, a hero in the Dark War, as well as the warlock holding the warlock's seat on the Council of Shadowhunters, he was possibly the most famous warlock in the world. He was kind and friendly to his friends, including the Blackthorns, and was famously dating Alec Lightwood. He seemed to bring a sense of infinite possibility with him wherever he went. He looked the same as the last time Selina had seen him, down to his sardonic smile and the heavy jeweled rings on his fingers.

"Emma, Julian, Selina, Veon," Magnus addressed each of them in turn. "A pleasure. What are you all doing here?"

"My kids threw me through a portal," Veon complained. "Which reminds me, Selina. I've been meaning to tell you and your parabatai that Merida says hi and she is _totally_ dating Aaron Half-Light."

"Ha, called it," Selina laughed.

"I'm gonna assume by 'your kids' you mean the ones at the Academy," Magnus said. "What about the rest of you?"

"I'm babysitting," Selina announced.

"We aren't babies," Emma protested.

"Then _you _can explain why we're here, oh mature adults."

Emma darted her gaze toward Julian. They might have been fond of Magnus, but they could tell from Julian's expression - it was quickly hidden, smoothed over by a look of mild interest, but they could still see it - that he wasn't thrilled Magnus was there. This was already going to be a secret Malcolm and Veon needed to keep. Adding someone else in…especially someone on the Council…

"What are you doing in town?" Julian asked, his tone casual.

"Ever since the Dark War, the Clave has been tracking incidences of the kind of magic Sebastian Morgenstern used," Magnus explained. "Energy raised from evil sources, Hell dimensions and the like, to draw power and extend life. Necyomanteis, the Greeks called it."

"Necromancy," Emma translated.

Selina remembered Seline's memories, thinking about Necromian Astrals that were in charge of necromancy while she was reading the runes. Seline had wanted to question the Necromians, but Fae had arrived too soon and she needed to take the nullifying potion. If anyone was trying necromancy, the Necromians would know about it.

Magnus nodded. "We built a map with help from the Spiral Labyrinth, from the Silent Brothers - even Zachariah - that reveals where necromantic magic is being used. We caught a flare of it here in Los Angeles, out by the desert, so I thought I'd stop by, see if Malcolm knew about it."

"It was a rogue necromancer," Malcolm said. "Diana said she took care of him."

"God, I _hate_ rogue necromancers," Veon complained dramatically. "Why can't they just follow the rules?"

"Probably because the biggest rule is 'no necromancy'?" Selina suggested.

Magnus grinned at her sideways. "Anyway. It was no big deal for me to stop by here on my way to Buenos Aires."

"What's in Buenos Aires?" Julian asked.

"Who else?" Veon said, resting his cheek on his knuckles and his elbow on the armrest of his seat. "Alec."

Alexander Lightwood had been Magnus's boyfriend for half a decade now. They could have gotten married under the new laws that allowed Shadowhunters to marry Downworlders (other than faeries), but they hadn't. Magnus had told Veon in private that it was because Alec wanted to change the law completely first, make it so that they could get married in gold - or maybe also warlock blue too.

"Routine check on a vampire-worshipping cult," Magnus agreed. "But he ran into some trouble there."

"Nothing serious?" Selina asked.

"Complicated, but not serious," Magnus confirmed just as Malcolm pushed himself away from the wall.

"I'm going to go call Diana. Be right back," he said before vanishing down the hallway.

"So." Magnus sat down on the couch, in the place Malcolm had just vacated. "What brings you to the High Warlock of the City of Angels?"

Emma exchanged a worried look with Julian, but short of diving across the table and whacking Magnus over the head - inadvisable for so many reasons - she couldn't think of anything to do.

"Something you're not supposed to tell me, I take it." Magnus templed his hands under his chin. "About the killings." At Emma and Julian's surprised looks, he added, "I have friends at the Scholomance. Caterina Loss, for one, and Merida Scion. Hell, even _Veon_ volunteers there sometimes. Anything about rogue magic or the Fair Folk interests me. Is Malcolm helping you?"

Julian shook his head, a minute gesture.

"Some of the bodies were fey," Emma said. "We're not meant to get involved. The Cold Peace-"

"The Cold Peace is despicable," Magnus said, and the humor had gone out of his voice. "Punishing a whole species for the actions of a few. Denying them rights. Exiling your sister," he added, looking at Julian. "We've spoken to her recently, me and Veon. She helped make the map I spoke of; any magic that global involves the wards. How often do you talk to her?"

"Every week," Julian said.

"She said you always told her that everything was fine," Veon said. "I think she was worried you weren't telling her the truth."

Julian said nothing. It was true that he talked to Helen every week; they all did, passing the phone or computer back and forth. And it was also true that Julian never told her anything except that everything was fine, they were all fine, there was no need for her to worry.

"I remember her wedding," Selina said. "How young you both were."

"You were young too, Selina," Magnus pointed out, a gentleness in his eyes. "You hadn't even been made into parabatai with Finnegan yet. Though that wasn't the last wedding I saw you at, was it?"

Emma and Julian exchanged puzzled glances. "I'm pretty sure it was," Julian said. "What other wedding would it have been?"

"Hm," Magnus said. "Perhaps my memory is going in my old age."

"Crap, I'll be suffering from memory loss within the century," Veon muttered.

He didn't sound as if he thought that was likely, though. Magnus leaned back instead, sliding his long legs under the coffee table. "As for Helen, I'm sure it's just an older sibling's anxiety. Certainly Alec worries about Isabelle, whether it's warranted or not."

"Finn tries to be protective of Merida," Selina said. "Me too, if it weren't for the fact that we are _far_ superior to him. And the fact that I'm about a year older than him. Boys, honestly."

"I'll try not to take offense," Veon said.

"Try all you want, I don't care much how you feel."

She leaned off the arm of the seat and flopped down across Veon's lap. The warlock looked visibly uncomfortable, stiffening up and shifting in his seat, but he didn't say anything and accepted it.

"What do you think about ley lines?" Emma asked abruptly.

Magnus's eyebrows flew up. "What _about _them? Spells done at ley lines are amplified."

"Does it matter what kind of magic? Dark magic, warlock magic, faerie magic?"

Magnus frowned. "It depends. But it's unusual to use a ley line to amplify dark magic."

"Usually they're used to move power," Veon continued. "Like a delivery system for magic-"

"Well, how about that." Malcolm, returning to the living room, darted an amused look at Emma. "Diana corroborates your story. Color me astonished." His gaze moved to Magnus. "What's going on?"

A light flashed in his eyes, whether amusement or something else, they couldn't quite tell. Sometimes Malcolm seemed completely childlike, going on about trains and shrimp crackers and eagle movies. At other times, he seemed as sharp and focused as anyone else in the Shadow World.

Magnus stretched his arms along the back of the sofa. "We were talking about ley lines. I was saying they amplify magic, but only certain kinds of magic."

"Magic that has to do with energy transferals," Veon finished. "Didn't you and Caterina Loss run into some kind of trouble with ley lines back when you lived in Cornwall, Malcolm?"

A vague expression passed over Malcolm's face. "I can't remember precisely. Magnus, stop bothering them." There was a tiny tinge of something like annoyance in his voice. Professional jealousy, Selina guessed. "This is _my_ domain. You've got your _own_ hopeless humans in New York."

"One of those hopeless humans is the father of my child," Magnus pointed out. "And the rest of them have all saved the world, at least once."

Malcolm gestured towards Julian and Emma. "I have high hopes for these."

Magnus's face broke into a grin. "I'm sure you're right."

"_Hopeless?_" Selina backtracked. "I'm not hopeless. Shadowhunters can be stubborn, but we're not _all_ hopeless. Am I hopeless?" she demanded, staring at Veon.

He threw his hands up in self-defense. "Hey, don't look at _me!_ I find you a very respectable sort-of immortal. At least before you became a not-so immortal…"

"Do I even wanna know what that means?" Magnus asked.

Selina winked at him. "Not for you to know, sweetheart."

Magnus looked surprised and amused all at once. After a moment, he gave Veon a leer that Veon wanted to smack him for. "You _sure_ can pick 'em, Ve."

"What's _that_ mean?!" Veon snapped, sitting forward abruptly and incidentally dumping Selina off his lap and onto the floor. "Oh! Sorry!"

She grumbled into the carpet. "I hate humanity sometimes."

"Hey, I thought you _were_ humanity right now."

"Doesn't mean I can't hate humanity."

He looked to the side in thought. "Fair point."

Magnus gave a shake of his head and smiled, rising to his feet. "Anyway, I should go. Long trip ahead of me and Alec doesn't like me to be late."

There was a flurry of good-byes. Magnus clapped Malcolm on the arm, flicked Veon in the forehead before taking a subsequent punch to his upper arm, said a goodbye to Selina on the floor, and paused to hug Julian, then Emma. His shoulder bumped her forehead as he bent his head, and she heard his voice in her ear, whispering. She looked at him in surprise, but he only let her go and marched toward the door, whistling. Halfway to the door there was the familiar shimmer and burned-sugar smell of portal magic, and Magnus disappeared.

"Did you tell him about the investigation?" Malcolm looked anxious. "He mentioned ley lines."

"I asked him about them," Emma admitted. "But I didn't say why I wanted to know. And I didn't mention anything about translating the markings."

Malcolm circled around to look at the paper again. "I don't suppose you can take a potion so that you can untangle the lines again like you did the first one?" he said to Selina. "It would help to know what '_Fire to water_' means, at the very least."

"I can reverse it, but it would take her hours to recover from the after effects and then a few more hours to replace the spell because of the initial reason that it was cast in the first place," Veon said. "Besides, with a spell so strong, turning it on and off in such a small space of time could be damaging."

"Barring that, even when we could translate, this is meant to be cryptic," Selina said. "Not to mention that '_Fire to water_' is a very rough translation. It could be '_Sun to sea_,' '_Flame to flood_,' '_Heat to cool_,' '_Burn to freeze_.' Not to mention the metaphorical references as well. It could be relating to love and hate, passion and reason, determination and its many forms based on the cause and motivation behind it. This language is very old, older than Nephilim and from a dark time for the Fair Folk when they were strongly connected to their demonic roots."

"You can use it, though, right?" Julian asked eagerly. "To get the rest of the spell or message or whatever it is?"

"Probably," Malcolm admitted. "But without knowing specifically what the language is, it won't be easy. You're not giving me much. Okay, old demony language, very ancient. I'll check with the Spiral Labyrinth."

"Be careful what you tell them," Julian said. "Like we said - the Clave can't know we're investigating this."

"Which means faerie involvement," said Malcolm, amusement flickering across his face as he saw Emma and Julian's horrified expressions. "Don't worry, I won't tell. I don't like the Cold Peace any more than any other Downworder does."

Julian was expressionless. He ought to take up a career playing poker, Veon thought.

"We can be discreet," Veon agreed. "We know people in the Spiral Labyrinth we can trust to not ask questions." Malcolm opened his mouth to protest, but Veon held up a hand to stop him. "I'm in too deep to kick me out now, Mal. Besides, it'll be a nice break from work. I wanna help in any way I can. Plus, let us all be reminded who's the elder High Warlock here."

Malcolm grumbled. "Southern California is more important that Northern."

"There are a _lot_ of people who are ready to argue you on that front."

"Says the guy that's gone half the time working or playing or sleeping. You live in an apartment, for crying out loud."

"So I don't live in a mansion. I'm still just as rich as you. I just don't show off."

"How long do you think you'll need?" Julian asked, deadpan as ever. "To translate?"

"Give us a few days," Malcolm said, looking to Veon for confirmation.

Veon nodded. "It's not gonna be a fast process."

Emma tried to conceal her disappointment, but it was clear on her face.

"Sorry we can't do it any faster. But a few days is better than a few _weeks_." He looked down to where Selina was still lying on the carpet. "Are you gonna stay there forever? Are you dead?"

"Yes," Selina grumbled, her voice muffled by the carpet. "You should be charged for murder and you can take Malcolm's suggestion about hiding the body."

He tapped her with his foot. "Come on, we can walk you out. I need some air anyway."

Selina reluctantly picked herself up and followed them out the door. The sun had come out from behind the clouds and was blazing down Malcolm's front garden. The desert flowers shivered, silver-edged, in the wind from the canyons. A lizard darted out from behind a piece of shrubbery and stared at them. Emma stuck her tongue out at it while Selina narrowed her eyes, wondering if there was an Astral of lizards spying on her. She was gonna become paranoid thanks to Seline.

"I'm worried," Malcolm said abruptly. "I don't like this Necromantic magic, demon languages, a series of killings no one understands. Working without the Clave's knowledge. It seems, dare I say it, dangerous."

Julian stared off toward the distant hills, silent.

"I'll admit I'm a little shaken too," Selina said. "There's a lot going on. It's almost overwhelming. But I'm not one to back down from a challenge, not now that we're in so deep. Besides, I'm not alone in this, so I'm not as scared as I could be."

"Malcolm, last year we fought off a battalion of Forneus demons," Emma said. "Don't try to freak us out about this."

Veon nodded. "Ah. Tentacles and no faces? Not fun."

"I'm just saying," Malcolm argued. "Danger. You know, that thing most people avoid."

"Not us," Emma said cheerfully. "Tentacles, Malcolm. No _faces?_"

"Stubborn," Malcolm sighed. "Just promise to call me if you need me or if you find out anything else."

"Definitely," Julian said.

Selina wondered if they felt guilty for lying to Malcolm like that. The cold knot of guilt sat in Selina's chest, but at the same time, she knew this was necessary. The wind off the ocean had picked up, catching the dust in the garden and blowing it into swirls.

Julian pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Thanks for helping. We know we can depend on you."

He headed down the path, towards the steps to the bridge, which shimmered alive as he approached it.

"I guess this is a way of saying call me," Veon smirked.

Selina chuckled. "I suppose it is. Just don't get yourself into trouble."

"I don't know how many years _you've_ seen, sweetheart, but I think I've mastered the art of handling myself over these past few centuries."

Selina held out her fist and he gave her a fist bump before she walked away. Veon sighed, watching her go. Malcolm's face, meanwhile, had turned somber, despite the bright noon light reflecting off the ocean.

"Don't depend on me too much," he said, so softly that Emma looked over wondering if he knew she would hear him.

"Why not?" Emma asked, turning her face up to him in the sunlight, blinking.

His eyes were the color of jacaranda blossoms. "Because I'll let you down. Everyone does."

He went back into the house, and Veon nodded to Emma. "You'd best catch up them. I, meanwhile, have to go deal with a group of unruly students. Translating demonic runes sounds pretty entertaining in comparison."

* * *

"Miach, I ask you to remain calm. I will restrain you if I must."

Mark had retreated to the corner of the room again, curled into a ball like a trapped wild animal.

"Fionn Flann, is what I see reality? Am I still within Faerie?"

"You are in the human world, an Institute of Nephilim."

"Your tongue cannot lie, but is it your tongue that speaks to me or merely an illusion?"

Fionn frowned. Mark was right to be suspicious, Fionn had worked hard to teach him that anything could be an illusion in order to help him survive the Hunt. If Mark knew something, that meant that he could be dreaming about it. If he didn't know about something, then it meant it could very easily be a false or twisted version of the truth, he had no way of knowing.

Fionn whistled sharply, not using his fingers because that was used to summon his horse, but just a small, high pitched note that lasted only a fraction of the time he whistled for Zoltan with. On either side of him, two dark wisps of smoke formed and then came together to form two hounds, each black with glowing red eyes. One had a collar that was golden and the other a collar that was silver - the two being named Aurum and Argentum respectively.

"My hounds know truth even when you yourself do not. State what you believe and they shall aid you in determining reality."

Mark looked to the two familiar hounds and spoke hesitantly. "I…I am within a Shadowhunter Institute. I have…returned from the Hunt to my family."

Aurum growled, and Fionn petted his head gently to get him to calm down. "Your family lies with both the Nephilim and the Hunt. Aurum is confused as to what family means to you, meaning you are just as lost on the matter."

Mark hugged his knees. "Lost. Yes, I am very lost."

Fionn sighed. Mark's mental state was still very disoriented. He repeated his former sharp and short whistle as the two dogs gave a final bark each before dissolving into mist again.

"Rest, Mark," Fionn said, still getting used to referring to Miach as 'Mark.' There was very little difference in the two names - not nearly as significant as Alessa, Miach's sister also known as Helen Blackthorn - but enough to irk Fionn ever so slightly each time he spoke the name. "You require more time to recover."

Mark nodded, closing his eyes in a dazed state. Fionn sighed and moved to sit on the bed once more. The bed was only slightly foreign to him, considering he had adjusted to the comfort of a bed with all of his visits to Hunter. Speaking of which, his mind continued to dance around the new knowledge of Hunter, how Fionn now knew his true name and he knew Fionn's.

"Finnegan."

It rolled off his tongue in a weird way - not weird like Mark's name though. It was…_nice_. It suited him well. He _looked_ like a Finnegan. Then again, Hunter was called 'Finn' by his comrades. Finn was awkward for Fionn, especially with the close resemblance to his name. Fionn started to consider that maybe he was simply averse to single syllable names. Just as he was pondering the implications of such a quirk, the door crept open and Hunter - Finnegan - peeked his head through.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?"

Fionn stood, walking to the door and passing through, leaving it slightly cracked so that Cristina Rosales could see Mark in the corner of the room. Finnegan led Fionn through the halls of the Institute and into another room, slightly different from Mark's but similar overall. He assumed it to be a guest room.

"It's not exactly the same room as mine back at the Frisco Institute, but it's as close as I could get," Finnegan explained.

He closed the door as Fionn passed through into the room before Fionn suddenly found himself pulled into a kiss. He was confused, but he allowed it, cupping Hunter - _Finnegan's_ \- face gently and running his fingers through the Shadowhunter's hair. It had grown out since Fionn had first met him as Hunter. He'd cut it a couple times, but oddly enough when Fionn had made a comment that he preferred his hair a little longer than Finnegan normally had it, suddenly Hunter stopped cutting his hair. Fionn's enchanted hair, meanwhile, normally rested between his chin and shoulders, pulled back behind his ears. In the back it was at its longest, ending at the base of his neck above his shoulder blades. When Finnegan pulled back, he twisted a strand of the now platinum-gold locks. It only ever turned that shade when it came to Hunter, and he himself enjoyed how Hunter always seemed mesmerized by it.

"Is there a reason for summoning my aid beyond this?" Fionn asked, not even trying to hide that he was slightly breathless even though their kiss had to have lasted only a few seconds at most.

Finnegan chuckled. "Well, sure, but this was a bonus. I've been thinking about how useful your Astral status might be in this case, but since you've been cursed or whatever so that whenever the Astral side of you comes out you go insane, I've been digging into what I believe is the solution. You woke up from your dazed berserk state when you heard your brother, and after you and your brother were separated, you had me. Two people in your life that have touched your heart in a way no one else has. Perhaps that means that loving someone is the key to, at the very _least_, resisting this curse. Seline informed me that this curse has been a danger to Astrals for a while now, but she also explained how love is a complicated thing for you guys. Being given power as Astrals starts to take away pieces of your humanity and your ability to feel emotions. The fact that you haven't fully regained your memories and your full power could give us the advantage in that case. You could contact Astrals for assistance, maybe read those weird demonic symbols, while I can help the mortal part of you keep the cursed part of you in control."

"And if your theory fails to hold true?"

He shrugged. "_I_ think that it will. You're you right now, and I intend to keep you with me no matter what happens. I'll fight for you and hit you _really_ hard on the head if you lose control."

Fionn chuckled. "I shall keep that in mind." He brushed his fingers across Finnegan's face to cup his cheek. "Do not harm yourself in the process, my Hunter. I would never forgive myself if you…if you were to perish by my hand."

Finnegan placed his hand on Fionn's, leaning into the touch. "I won't let that happen. And even if things _do_ go south, I have hope that I'll meet you in the next life."

"Is hope enough to live by, I wonder?"

"It may have to be. But hope is a powerful thing. The sound of true despair is silence, and so I won't go quiet into that good night."

Fionn raised an eyebrow. "_Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night._ Dylan Thomas."

Finnegan frowned. "Didn't think faeries were so good at poetry."

"Poetry binds our races, it seems. Many poets have a strong connection to the fey, seeing what others fail to comprehend. Similarly, famous artists see the impossible that others go mad when witnessing. Vincent Van Gogh was a man whose ear was lost as the price of a deal with the Fair Folk to enhance his skills and vision of the world. He was given the Sight; he nearly went mad for it."

"Really? Is _that_ why he has a painting without an ear? Huh. Never really gave it that much thought."

Fionn was about to respond, but a moment later they heard a shriek like the cry of a seabird. The two shared a quick glance and mutually agreed to start running. Fionn imagined this was what having a parabatai felt like - having a connection to someone that didn't require words. He and Finnegan could run in sync just like how Fionn could work in unison with his brother, but it was different all the same. They could work in battle with ease, they could read each other's thoughts and facial expressions and know how the other was feeling even if they were putting up a façade. Both were admittedly insecure at times when it came to being lovers, but Fionn felt they had worked out most of their issues. Sort of.

"If you hurt Tiberius, I'll kill you! I don't _care_ if you're Mark, _I'll kill you!_"

Hearing that made Fionn jump into action - Mark could not be allowed to be killed. He pushed past Cristina Rosales and found Mark pinning Tiberius to the ground with his knees and Livia wielding a seraph blade.

"Miss Livia, please," Fionn said firmly. "There will be no need for such violence."

"Tell _him_ that. Tell him to let Ty go!"

"Miach, release the boy. You are upsetting your sister."

Mark stilled. Ty was still writhing and twisting, but Mark had stopped moving entirely. Slowly, he turned his head toward his sister. "Livia?"

Livia gasped and began to sob. Julian would be proud, though: she was weeping without moving, the blade still steady in her hand. Ty took advantage of Mark's distraction to hit at him, connecting solidly with Mark's shoulder. Mark winced and rolled away without striking back. Ty leaped to his feet and darted across the room to join Livia; they stood shoulder to shoulder staring at their brother with wide eyes.

"Please, take your leave," Fionn said as gently as possible, knowing that the twins were delicate at the moment.

He could feel the panic and worry rolling off them in waves; Mark could clearly feel it too. He was wincing, opening and closing his hands as if in pain. Finnegan put a hand on either of their shoulders and whispered something into their ears. Livia nodded and sheathed her blade. She took Ty's hand and said something to him in the quiet, private language they had. Fionn made a mental note to attempt to understand their secret language. Ty followed her out of the room, pausing only briefly to look back at Mark, his expression hurt and bewildered. Mark was sitting up, panting, his body bent over his knees. He was bleeding from the reopened cut on his shoulder, staining his shirt.

Fionn sighed, walking over to Mark and kneeling beside him. "Your wounds must be healed. Still yourself."

Fionn pulled Mark's shirt to the side so that his cut was revealed. Fionn took a cloth from one of his bags and wiped away the blood before tracing his finger over the cut. It was Fionn himself who had to leave the cut there, so it was his duty to heal it. He poured a small bit of healing magic to the tip of his finger, easing it over the laceration. It would leave a near invisible scar, nothing too serious.

"How well are you each acquainted with Mark Blackthorn?" he asked to Cristina Rosales and Finnegan.

"I don't know him well, but we've met a couple times," Finnegan admitted.

"I've only ever heard the stories," Cristina declared. "We've never met before this."

"Then allow Miss Rosales to speak with him. He is malnourished and holds great thirst. There was little water to spare on the journey here. Finnegan?"

"Of course." He grabbed the glass off the dresser and went into the small attached bathroom.

Fionn helped him sit up and back against the footboard of the bed. When Finnegan returned and handed the glass to him, Mark stared at it wryly. "Water from taps," he mused. "I'd almost forgotten."

"I feel they are untrustworthy; however I am far from an expert on humanity's ways," Fionn muttered.

Mark took a long swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're Mark," Cristina said. "Mark Blackthorn."

There was a long pause before he nodded, almost imperceptibly. "No one has called me that in a long time."

"Fionn did," Finnegan pointed out.

"It's still your name," Cristina declared.

"Who are you?" Mark asked, looking to her. "I should remember, probably, but-"

"I'm Cristina Mendoza Rosales. There is no reason you should remember me, since we have never met before."

"That's a relief."

Cristina was surprised. "Is it?"

"If you don't know me and I don't know you, then you won't have any…expectations." He looked suddenly exhausted. "Of who I am or what I'm like. I could be anyone to you."

"Make your introductions," Fionn said. "Let us procure sustenance, Finnegan."

The two walked out together and Finnegan led Fionn to the kitchen.

"Do you think Mark's gonna be okay?"

"'_O-kay_,' too vague a term to be surmised so easily. He will be alive, but he shall not recover from the mental stress of Faerie he has been forced to endure - not entirely even should he regain most of his wits."

"Five years in the human realm he's been gone. Do you know how long it's been in Faerieland terms?"

"It has been many years since I first encountered the boy within the Wild Hunt. I have long since pitied him, but no, I have failed to record our time of interaction."

Finnegan sighed. "How long ago was it that Helen got married without him? How long has he had to ponder the fate of his family with no hope of seeing them again? No wonder he's broken so much."

Fionn looked up. "Something is coming."

Finnegan tensed, his hand instantly at his belt where a seraph blade was. "What?"

"A message; no harm." Fionn closed his eyes. "The smell of…water. My brother."

"Kieran? He's here?"

"He sent the message. He was quite fond of Miach - _Mark_ \- in the Hunt. I would have never considered Mark an ally or comrade had Kieran not shown interest in the boy."

Finnegan frowned. "Does he want Mark to return to the Hunt?"

"Of course, but he would never resort to tactics that would bring Mark harm. I give my word, he would do nothing that would directly or indirectly harm Mark physically or mentally. He simply desires what is best for Mark, even if what he believes is best may contradict another's opinion."

"The rest of the Blackthorns, you mean."

"They are far more…passionate about their brother's feelings. They believe they know him well, but he is not the man he was when last they met."

Finnegan searched through a large metal box with food and pulled out multiple vegetables. "Mark should be able to make this choice of his own free will, but neither choice feels right. I want the Blackthorns to be reunited, but if he has something in the Wild Hunt…even if it's tougher, if it makes him stronger…if there's something he cares a lot about there…we at least need to ease him into this. He's caught between a rock and a hard place - basically, he doesn't have any good options here. All we can do is hope for the best possible path to whatever the future may hold."

Fionn nodded. "I concur."

"Great. Now, what do you think he'd like to eat?"

* * *

"What has occurred?" Fionn demanded.

"H-he received some message," Cristina explained. "If any of the Blackthorns go in there with him he…he just starts to scream."

"What did you do to him?!" Livia Blackthorn demanded. "Reverse it now, fey, or I _swear-!_"

"Livia, that is enough!" Finnegan snapped. "Emma, Julian, and Selina are on their way now. It's going to be hard for Mark. We can't expect him to be okay all at once. He's been away a long time. He has to get used to being here."

"But we're his _family_," Livvy insisted. "Why would you have to get used to your own family?"

"You might have to if you'd been away from them a long time and you'd been somewhere where your mind plays tricks on you."

"Like Faerie," said Ty, as though finding the answer to something had grounded him just slightly.

Fionn kneeled in front of him. "Yes, Tiberius Blackthorn. Faerie has made him a stranger to you. You must introduce yourself anew. Share with him your interests and he will listen when he is ready. And he _will_ be ready soon. You must give him time, leave him alone for a little longer. His fear resembles yours - he wishes for an answer yet he feels he cannot trust any he is given. I shall work to remedy that. I will return your brother to you, that is the promise of a faerie."

"Fionn is a guest here," Finnegan continued. "You should be grateful that we have a benevolent faerie that's willing to cooperate with us and who's looked after Mark all this time. I know that you're angry, I know that you think this is all black and white, but it's not. Fionn kept Mark alive in Faerie - if it weren't for him, you wouldn't have been able to reunite with Mark at all. I knew him from long before the Dark War - I know where his loyalties lie."

"Can you really be sure of that, Finnegan?" Cristina asked.

"I'd bet my life on it if that's what it took to convince you all."

"I am in a world of Nephilim," Fionn said. "The stories the fey tell of you are naught but horrors. You would sacrifice those you love for the sake of the mission, you would betray your own, you would never allow our 'tainted' blood to rule this land. We of the Downworld know you as narcissistic murderers. Long ago, the mission given to Nephilim was to protect mortals. You forgot that mission within only a few generations. It became about killing what you believed was evil, not about protecting what you believed was good." Fionn turned to look her in the eye. "Livia Blackthorn, you use this stoic façade of yours even as your brother harms you with his words and actions. Yet all you desire is his return. You wish to make your family whole again, to preserve what little you have in this world. Were my own brother taken in such a callous way, I would be the same. Use your power to protect what you love, not to simply destroy what you hate."

With that, he walked into the room with Mark.

Finn looked to the Blackthorns all huddled outside Mark's door. Dru was curled up with Tavvy against Livvy's side; Ty sat alone, his long hands dangling between his knees. Fionn could be heard inside, his voice calming and placating against Mark's voice, raised an angry. Emma and Julian rushed up the stairs fast as Nephilim could - which Finn was glad for, since Ty had begun to rock back and forth, his eyes closed. It was something he did when things were too much: too loud, too harsh or hard or fast or painful. Finn knew how to calm people in distress, but he knew that only Ty's family would be able to reassure him now. The world was extra intense for Ty, Julian had said. It was as if his ears could hear more clearly, his eyes see more, and sometimes it was too much for him. Fionn might be able to help with that, actually, as he had intense senses and great meditation techniques. Ty needed to cover noises, to feel something in his hand to distract him. He needed to rock back and forth to soothe himself. Everyone processed stress in a different way. This was Ty's, and it hurt nobody except those who felt sympathy for him and wished to help.

"Em," Julian said, his face taut. "I need to go in alone."

Emma nodded. She pasted a smile on her face - inferior to Julian, but she was trying. "Malcolm's working on the investigation. The murders. I thought we could head to the library and look into ley lines."

"Me too?" Drusilla piped up.

"You can help us plot a map. Okay?"

Dru nodded. "Okay."

She rose to her feet and the others followed. As Emma led them away down the hall, a quiet subdued group, she looked back only once. Julian was standing by the door to Mark's room, watching them go. His eyes met hers for a split second before he looked away, as if he hadn't seen her glance at all.

"What's with _them?_" Finnegan asked.

Cristina shrugged. "Dunno."

"Well they better work things out soon. I have _enough_ headaches without-"

He was interrupted by his phone going off. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw that it was Samuel - the Head of the San Francisco Institute, the most powerful Shadowhunter in California besides Arthur Blackthorn, and Finn's uncle. Not that Finn or Merida were very close to the man. You wouldn't think that he was even related to them at first, the way they interacted and addressed each other. Finn couldn't remember the last time he had actually referred to Samuel as 'Uncle.'

"Hello, sir?"

"_Finnegan Scion?_"

The voice on the other end of the line wasn't Samuel. "Hello? Who's this?"

"_I am Robert Lightwood, Inquisitor. I've been summoned to the San Francisco Institute because the current Head has been murdered._"

Finn felt the blood drain from his face. He hadn't been close to Samuel, but the man was still family, and Finn was fond of him. He couldn't imagine answering to another Head, he didn't like the idea that things were changing so much.

"How?"

"_A demon attack. The target was eliminated, but it seems he was investigating the instances of necromancy within California and got too close to the truth. His entire study has been burned down, along with everything that he'd discovered._"

"I…see. Will a new Head be assigned?"

"_That's what I've called to inform you of. Among the need to inform you of your uncle's passing, I'm also assigning you as the new Head of this Institute. You've proven yourself more than capable in the past, and you're also the only relative of Samuel Scion that is currently available. Your mission is now on standby. Return to your Institute with Selina Dalmasca for the funerary rites and your inauguration as the new Head of the San Francisco Institute. Congratulations, Finnegan. You are hereby officially the most powerful man in California._"

_**-TTOT-**_

"I mean, there's still Arthur Blackthorn," Selina said comfortingly as possible. "You're not suddenly king of Cali, Finn."

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to be _doing!_ On top of everything with the Blackthorns and the necromancy and the murders and…gah!"

He collapsed dramatically on his new desk - a temporary office while the Head office was being repaired.

"Sit up," Selina ordered. "Come on, you're ruining your tux."

Finn sat up reluctantly and allowed Selina to smooth the creases in his white jacket. She readjusted his tie before stepping back. Her white dress was long and formal, the end of it just barely sweeping across the floor. She had sleeves that went down and connected to a strip of fabric that went over her middle fingers. It had holes on the shoulders to reveal her birthmark on her shoulder, and the inside of the sleeves were actually open so that the runes on her arms could be seen.

"It's Seline's," she explained. "Goddess of the moon and all, she's got a nice white dress."

Finn helped her put her hair up, slipping a hair comb decorated with elegant engravings and a moon in the center. It sparkled and shimmered, making her hair seem to shimmer like it was full of glitter.

"You sure you put it in right?" she asked, trying to see it in the mirror.

"You look like a goddess," he assured her. "Besides, I've been forced to learn how to do a girl's hair thanks to you and Merida."

Selina frowned into the mirror. "Merida can't come?"

"I don't think she really needs to. Scholomance might be stopping her, but Samuel wasn't exactly our beloved and best uncle ever. One way or another, she can only mourn him so much."

She sighed. "_Ave atque vale_, Samuel Scion. Let's go say goodbye."

* * *

**Chapter title: "_Love Somebody_" by Maroon 5**


	6. Looks Can Be Pleasing, Yet So Deceiving

**Oh my gosh it's a chapter under 10,000 words - just 8,000! What?! Whoa?! Crazy?! I know!**

**But it's just because the next segment has to be in one big chunk, so****…yeah.**

**^This is what I said before I came up with a new part out of a random epiphany I had because epiphanies happen at the worst time, amiright? Now it's 15,000 words lol.**

**Preemptively posting this so I don't forget tomorrow. I just finished a Calc final which isn't my full final - it's the retake for the final/practice for the actual exam****…yeah. Also I did pretty well on my SAT so I have my muse back. Gonna be writing all day tomorrow if I don't get distracted reading over my old work - which happened all of this week. Just all of it.**

**This chapter consists of a lot of broken up parts that were written at different times, so if the continuity is a bit off, that's probably why. Not to mention that when I copied and pasted all of the italics were lost, so I had to go in and redo that too. I might have to look back for when that happened in previous chapters as well because it could honestly just go right over my head.**

**The song is "_Let My Love Be Heard_" by Jake Runestad. Go look that thing up because it is the most beautiful thing ever.**

**Enjoy!**

**:)**

* * *

Samuel Scion didn't have any children. He'd never found any reason to marry, not politically, not for the sake of having children, and no one could tell him what to do, so his parents trying to get him married off? Ha.

Then again, perhaps that's why he hadn't been considered the favorite in his family. His little sister Ellesmira had married a nice man and had twins. She loved music and art and mundane trinkets, and since she was the baby of the family, she could get away with almost anything. She was beautiful, smart, hard-working; she was deadly with polearms and always had an extra five more knives than she needed on her at all times; she was the sweetest person you'd meet in a room full of stuck-up Shadowhunters and could charm her way into anything even once she'd become an adult, and her husband was no one that would hold her back.

Samuel had never liked Mira's husband. He was a strict man who lived the regular Shadowhunter life of duty before love. Samuel would never understand how Ellesmira fell for the man, but her warm personality didn't seem to allow her to be capable of seeing the bad in people. Samuel had caught smiles from Ellesmira's husband back when they had first met. Once upon a time he'd been a good guy - nothing special, but not necessarily in a negative way. It was only a little after they'd gotten married and the twins were born that something in Lyle Scion changed.

Samuel's suspicions first started when he learned that Lyle was changing his last name to Scion rather than having Ellesmira take on _his_ name as it usually was in marriage. It seemed like a sweet gesture - Lyle saying that he put Ellesmira above him and didn't default to believing he was superior just because he was the man in the relationship. But it had always made Samuel uncomfortable for reasons he couldn't put into words. Was Lyle trying to hide his family name? Was there something that he wasn't telling them?

The next suspicious thing that occurred came in the form of Lyle giving his children their first runes before they were ready. The runes had burned their skin with intense pain, as their bodies physically weren't ready to handle the power of even a single rune. It hadn't even been the standard Voyance rune on the back of their dominant hands, either. It had been the Endurance rune, and the only reason that Samuel found out about the runes was because Finnegan had fallen on his back during training and had burst out into tears from pain - a fall that should've barely made him wince. Samuel had investigated and found the rune, and Merida subsequently admitted she had one too in order to prevent Finnegan from taking all the blame. Samuel told them he'd only forgive them if they told him why they had the runes and how, to which they responded that their father had told them it was time for their first runes when in reality it hadn't been.

Ellesmira had been furious when she found out, but for the sake of her children she asked Samuel to keep the situation secret. Finnegan and Merida hadn't died or anything, and with some time they would heal naturally. Once they got their first runes, the secret would be properly hidden - the Clave and the Silent Brothers would all be none the wiser. Even years later, their Endurance runes shimmered more than the average rune even after it faded.

Then, a warlock came to his Institute and ruined everything.

The High Warlock of San Francisco had requested an audience with Ellesmira, bringing with him a Faerie servant girl that appeared to be under his command. Samuel trusted Ellesmira, he knew she would be fine if they attempted to attack her - they were parabatai, and so he would know if she took injuries or died. But something even worse happened. He felt a stinging shock of overwhelming pain, enough to bring him to his knees as his mind clouded with so much information that he couldn't make sense of any of it. Then, all at once, it stopped. Ellesmira had come back from the Sanctuary where she was meeting the warlock and the faerie, she went straight to her room and didn't respond to Samuel's calls. She didn't come out of her room once, for weeks on end, and the only reason Samuel knew she was alive was because he heard shuffling from within the room.

Finnegan was the most concerned about his mother. He left food in front of her door each night, and though it wasn't taken the first few nights, eventually the trays of food began to disappear. It brightened Finnegan's mood to know that his mother was okay, somewhat, and it broke Samuel's heart to know that he had been taking the meals in the middle of the night, not Ellesmira.

One night, Samuel had found Finnegan passed out in front of the door to his mother's room, probably waiting to see her when she picked up her food. Samuel might have scolded Finnegan for falling asleep on the job - he was a Shadowhunter after all, and sometimes long nights of quiet waiting for something to happen occurred, so he should've been prepared to stay away for at least 24 hours. But now, Samuel simply smiled and took him back to bed. Unfortunately, he found that Merida wasn't in their shared room when he dropped Finnegan off. It was far too late for her to be out on her own, and so he had used a tracking rune to find her - as she didn't have access to runes that could hide her location yet.

When he had finally found Merida, it hadn't been under good circumstances. Merida was hiding around the corner of the Institute outside. She noticed Samuel before he even had the chance to call out for her, turning her head towards him and putting a finger to her lips. Worried about an intruder, Samuel had remained mute, silently made his way over to her, and looked around the corner, a weapon ready in his hand. Instead of a demon or a Downworlder, or even an unfamiliar Shadowhunter, he had found Ellesmira, talking to another man that he didn't recognize. There was only one thing he was sure of: the man was of the Fair Folk. He held her gently by the shoulders and leaned close to whisper something into her ear.

Merida had turned and walked away quietly, despite the anger flowing through her veins. Even until the day Samuel died, she would believe that encounter was that of an affair. The key word here was '_believe_.'

"Don't tell Finnegan," she had demanded of Samuel.

Even though she was still a child, her voice having yet to hit puberty, she had a menace in her voice that manifested in her anger - a calm yet furious tone that made you more afraid than when she was screaming and shouting because you knew that the strength to hold back such rage must have been overwhelming. You could only wonder what would happen if she channeled that strength to be powered _by_ that fury rather than holding it back. It was something she got from her mother, that was for sure.

"Why not?" Samuel had asked.

"He loves mom," she said with just a slight hint of sadness in her voice. "He should be able to love her for as long as he can."

Any Shadowhunter would be proud of how Merida held herself together, how she didn't tremble as she spoke, how she didn't cry and how she didn't scream and shout demanding answers. But Samuel wasn't proud. He wasn't proud to say that Merida had already lost her childhood to the point that she couldn't even grieve when she thought she was losing her mother and that her family was falling apart. She couldn't be upset that she didn't have answers. She felt she had to hide her true feelings already, something that most children - Shadowhunter or not - learned later in life, gradually.

"I won't tell Finnegan," Samuel promised.

She had nodded ever so slightly and turned away, her posture straight but not tense. You wouldn't have been able to guess she was as young as she was just based on a description of her - you wouldn't have been able to guess the fear she was harboring, and the loneliness she was facing by keeping this secret from her closest friend and twin.

"Then goodnight, Uncle Samuel."

Samuel hadn't forgotten about Lyle, either. When Ellesmira had locked herself away, Samuel had sent word to him, but he hadn't come. He hadn't even sent a fire message, he just disappeared from their lives. Once, he _did_ send a message with another Shadowhunter he had come across - just that he was very busy and he was sure Ellesmira was fine. Samuel had punched a wall when he'd heard the message. That wasn't how he was supposed to treat his wife, even if he was confident in her ability to handle any situation. That wasn't how he would have _once_ treated his wife. Samuel tried to remember when Lyle had changed, but he couldn't quite say there was a single moment.

Then came the night that Ellesmira had died.

Samuel had seen Finnegan go into the Sanctuary for a couple of weeks, but when Samuel finally questioned it, Finnegan had blinked at him blankly and asked what Samuel was talking about. Whoever he was meeting, they erased his memories of the encounters. Samuel had tried taking Finnegan to the Silent Brothers to see if they could recover anything, but they had simply said that it was a power beyond their jurisdiction. That didn't make Samuel feel any better, and Finnegan was simply confused. Then, Finnegan had allowed a Faerie into the Institute - the same one that had been with the warlock during the meeting that had made Ellesmira change. With a single knock on the door to her room, Ellesmira had allowed her inside.

When Samuel looked into the room, he saw someone that he didn't recognize anymore in place of his sister. She had the same face, but her eyes were a shade of lavender, the irises filled with cracks as though they were made of crystal. She wore a new dress, one that definitely wasn't hers, that resembled some kind of fancy Greek goddess - with a white gown that flowed like silk to the floor, golden jewelry on her arms and neck, and a circlet that almost made her look like a queen.

"Return to your warlock, Dearil. I am sure he worries about your condition."

"Thank you Lady Ellesmira," the faerie girl said as she moved towards the door. "I hope…I hope you'll be okay."

Ellesmira smiled, though it was more reserved than her normal smiles that Samuel was used to. "Worry not of my affairs, child. It is in your best interest to forget me. You have done your duty, and we may yet meet in the future. Though that is not necessarily a good omen."

The faerie nodded. "Yes ma'am."

The faerie turned around to walk straight before noticing Samuel a moment before she walked right into him, blocking the doorway. Samuel noticed that Finnegan was lying unconscious on the bed, returning his eyes to the faerie girl with a hard gaze.

"Mr. Samuel…sir…" she managed to squeak out, her entire body tense as she resisted the urge to back up.

She had guts to hold her position, but she was less adept at hiding her fear.

"Let her pass, Samuel," Ellesmira had ordered, her voice firm and deeper than Samuel remembered.

He wasn't sure if it was because she was his sister or because this new transformation of hers had given her some kind of power to command him to obey, but he stepped aside and allowed the faerie to pass. She did so hastily, keeping her head down as she navigated the halls. Samuel had a quick thought about how she probably didn't know the way out, but he was more concerned with speaking to his sister while he had the chance.

"Mira, would you like to do some explaining?"

"There is nothing to say, Samuel, nothing to _you_ at least."

She looked over to Finnegan and walked over to the bed, scooping him up gently, but not in a motherly way. He was getting bigger, but she held his weight effortlessly. She moved to the door and he followed her as they headed towards Finnegan and Merida's room.

"I haven't heard any word from you in _weeks_. You've worried the children beyond compare and now your son is unconscious after inviting a faerie into the Institute. As the _Head_ of this Institute, I believe I am entitled to _some_ answers."

"The future is a mystery to mortals, dear brother, as it shall remain forevermore. You are no exception to the rules."

They reached her childrens' room and the door opened all on its own, the lock clicking and the door swinging inwards by an invisible force. Samuel had seen many things in his life - he'd seen warlocks move things with the flick of the finger, he'd seen vampires turn into rats, and he'd seen faeries work magic that he may never be able to fully understand. But whatever had happened to his little sister, it was the first thing that was beginning to actually scare him.

"Mira…please just tell me what's going on. At least tell me that you're not in any danger, that it's still _you_. If this was some unnatural possession or brainwashing-"

"You wish to know if I am bewitched by dark forces, and the answer is no, Samuel."

She set Finnegan down on the bed and tucked him in, almost gently enough for Samuel to be fooled into thinking she was back to normal. Almost.

"Then what _has_ happened?"

Ellesmira stood straight. "I have been chosen by the gods, brother. A fate has been bestowed upon me that I have not chosen and that I cannot deny."

"The gods? _What_ gods?"

She turned around, her stained-glass eyes unnervingly filled with mirth. "_All_ of them."

She held out her hand and a golden object that looked like it might be a pocket watch appeared in her palm.

"The gods require a being of mortal power to bestow unto them a gift - a gift that they themselves cannot properly sustain themselves. Out of fear, out of respect, or possibly out of a lack of need for it, they have bestowed it upon me."

"Why _you?_"

Why was it his little sister that had to have this happen to her? Why did _he_ have to be the one to watch this happen to his sister, his best friend, his parabatai? Why was it Finnegan and Merida that had to lose their mother like this?

"It is random," she admitted with a shrug, once again leaking a bit of her old personality. "It's the only way for it to be fair. Then again, to me and my line, it is _never_ random."

"What _line?_"

"The line of the Oracles, of course." She paced slowly towards the window as she spoke, coming to a stop as she stared out into the evening sky. "I have spoken to some of the gods. A great terror threatens this family, and it was essential that I receive this blessing before the tragedy befalls us."

"You can predict the future then?"

"I _am_ the future, Samuel. I see the entire timeline, every reality, every possibility, and every choice that must happen. And now I know that my time has come to an end."

"Mira-"

"Shhh, Samuel. I am listening."

She tapped her finger against the glass of the window. In the reflection, Samuel was able to see as her eyes lit up with a golden symbol that flickered to life and then disappeared a moment later.

"I must say goodbye, my brother. Do look after the children for me, as best you can."

"No. No, you are _not_ leaving this Institute."

"**_You're not leaving _me_,_**" he wanted to say. "**_You're not leaving your children, your husband, your _brother_._**"

She frowned, flicking her hand with the golden pocket watch as a flash of light expanded from her palm and a golden trident appeared in her grip. She stalked forward calmly with no anger in her pace. There was no rage, and there was also no fear.

"You will not stand in my way, Samuel."

He reached for his seraph blade, but before he could even call out the first syllable, his little sister - the one he had gotten thrown to the mats by during their first sparring match, the one who gushed to him about the mundane camera she'd gotten and insisted he be a part of her first picture, the one who was always humming a song and playing her guitar, the one who was always smiling even when she was afraid, the one who he'd danced with at her wedding because their father wasn't there to do the honors instead, the one who he'd stood within a ring of fire with as he recited the parabatai oath, the one who almost excessively used her pregnancy as an excuse to get what she wanted, the one who'd offered Samuel to hold one of her children first because she trusted him to be careful even though he had no kids of his own and never planned to - his best friend, his little sister who he told himself he'd always have by his side, she stabbed him clean through the abdomen with the three prongs of her trident.

Samuel staggered back as she removed the weapon, managing to stay on his feet, but he knew that he'd pass out from blood loss soon if he didn't do something. Before he could even consider his options, she reared back and drove her weapon through him again, her face blank of emotion as though this is simply what she had been ordered to do and suddenly it all hit Samuel at once, seeing her like that. Ellesmira was gone, she had been for a long time. Ever since that day he'd let a warlock speak to her. He had let his sister speak to that warlock on her own, he had let that warlock in to ruin her life. It was _Samuel's_ fault that this had happened. It was his fault he hadn't looked after her like he should have. It was his fault that his niece and nephew would have to lose their mother without knowing what had happened to her. It was his fault she was gone.

Ellesmira's weapon turned to light and disappeared and she moved close to embrace him, holding him up so he didn't fall to the floor. "Shh, brother. You won't feel the pain soon enough. You won't remember this until you need to." Her voice hardened, and suddenly she sounded like the Shadowhunter sister he'd come to know and love. She spoke as though she was on a mission, regurgitating the mission info as quickly as she could. "Do not trust Lyle. He is possessed by a darker force than you can imagine. Not demons, not warlocks, not faeries, but witches. They have powers that threaten even the gods, and they will use Lyle and then Finnegan and Merida when they are strong enough for its liking. You must protect them with everything you have. I'm counting on you Samuel. And I will see you soon enough. But I'm afraid the next time you see me, it will not be on good terms."

Samuel's vision faded and he knew he was going to die from blood loss if he didn't get help. He wasn't sure what she expected him to do with this information; he wasn't sure that he himself remembered it all. He simply passed out, deciding that he would deal with it later - if he survived, that was.

When Samuel next woke up, he was not in the infirmary of the Institute. He was sitting at his desk, staring over the paperwork that he normally filled out on Thursdays. He felt as though he had been sitting there for a while, like he'd just zoned out and dreamed everything that had happened. The date on the paper he was looking at said that it was three days after the incident - meaning that information regarding his sister had to be in the pile that he was working on since it took place during that week. He dug through the piles of papers, looking as the dates went backwards. One day, two days, three days back.

'_Ellesmira Scion. Current status: deceased. Sent on a mission by the Clave to infiltrate a rogue Downworlder organization. Subject did not survive the mission, but her efforts were not in vain, for we were able to subdue the offending party during the incursion._'

Samuel didn't believe it at first. This had to be a prank. He knew of no one in his Institute that would pull such a thing, but at the same time he couldn't fathom how this could be real. The last thing he remembered was going to _see_ Ellesmira. Suddenly he wakes up here with no memory of the past few days? It was only when he saw the pictures of her body that his heart dropped like a stone.

_No_.

It was the one thought that ran through his head repeatedly, his mind unable to fully comprehend what was happening.

_No. No. No_.

It couldn't be real. It had to be fake. Ellesmira had been acting weirdly, after all. She'd had that supposed affair that Samuel had suspected wasn't actually an affair - he'd assumed it was some kind of illegal thing, but…it was the best cause that he had for her needing to fake her death. She wasn't gone forever. He'd see her again, he just had to search hard enough. Tracking runes were unlikely to work, but that didn't mean he couldn't look into anything and everything that she might have done in secret during her days of seclusion. After all, if she'd managed to contact _one_ person, that meant that she had to have been able to contact any _number_ of people. But until he found his answers, he needed the case to remain closed.

Oh, by the Angel, how was he going to tell the _children?_ And where the heck was Lyle?! Shouldn't he _be_ here? For the funeral?! For his children's sake?!

'**_Do not trust Lyle._**'

A sharp pain shot through Samuel's head.

"Don't trust…" he muttered. "Don't trust him."

He sifted through the papers again and found that he had been injured by a demon in an attack on the Institute. Finnegan had apparently left the window open when he'd fallen asleep, Samuel had gone to check in on him and had fought off a demon. There had been traces of dust on the floor where the demon's ashes had remained, there were signs of a struggle.

"**_That's not _right_,_**" Samuel's brain told him, but at the same time, everything seemed in order. There were even pictures.

None of this was right. He had lost his sister, his best friend, his parabatai, and he didn't even know _how_ he'd lost her. If she'd just died in a demon hunt it would be much clearer, he'd be able to grieve knowing all the facts and that he could put it behind him in the past. But right now? Now he still had to grieve. He still had to feel this empty coldness in his chest like his heart had been ripped out, like he was dead himself because he couldn't feel his parabatai. The rune on his chest that had been there for _years_ was just gone. And he couldn't even remember how she died, he hadn't been there for her when she died. If the Clave had given her the mission, it had probably been _him_ that had given her the orders and not prepared her right. It's all his fault.

Pain shot through his head once more, and he could've sworn it was her voice.

'**_It's okay, Samuel. I will always love you. But now I must go. I know it's abrupt, but fate is never so kind as to give us warning._**'

Later on, he would be told that he broke down right then, sobbing and muttering her name. Everyone understood; Finnegan and Merida were taken away and would never know. They say that not a lot of people survived the loss of their parabatai. People described it as unbearable agony, feeling the pain of your parabatai's death wash over you and then the emptiness of them being…gone. But Samuel hadn't felt it. He hadn't felt when she died, he just felt that she wasn't connected to him anymore. Somehow, that was worse. Because he had hope. Stupid hope that she was alive somewhere and their bond had simply been broken when she'd ran away so that even he couldn't track her. There were memories he was missing, things right on the tip of his tongue, thoughts that he reached out for, but when he thought he had a grasp on them they slipped away like smoke through his fingers.

He would insist on continuing to run his Institute despite his loss, he would insist that Finnegan and Merida stay with _him_ rather than go with Lyle during his constant Institute hopping for work - and Lyle agreed with the notion, quick to remarry for political reasons. Samuel would look after the only part of his sister that he had left - the children that resembled her so heavily. Finnegan and his love for music, Merida and her strong will and identical smile. But Samuel couldn't even do that. Finnegan's love for music and mundane culture would be smothered each time his father came home to train him. Merida would harden, her smile would disappear as she put on a brave front to protect Finnegan from meeting the same fate that their mother did, and she would forever be bitter about being left alone for lies - not that Samuel had any truths for her in the first place.

And Samuel would be forced to watch as the future played out and his sister's warning returned to him when it was too late.

"Why are you doing this?" Samuel demanded.

"I need Finnegan to hold a position of power when he's ready," Lyle said simply.

"Ready for _what?_"

Lyle tossed a vial of shimmering green liquid in his hand as he paced around Samuel's office. Samuel recognized it as a potent liquified version of the crystals certain demons swallowed in order to breathe fire. It was something he'd only heard about in theory, but at the moment, he had no doubt that's what Lyle had in his hands right now.

"For when I take over him," Lyle said casually, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Lyle here is growing a bit _old_, don't you think? I mean, he's in his _forties_, nearly _fifties!_ How many Shadowhunters _ever_ reach this age except the big-wigs up in Idris?"

"Who _are_ you?" Samuel hissed. "A demon?"

He wished that he could move, but Lyle had tossed a small gem at Samuel when he'd entered Samuel's office, and Samuel had foolishly caught it with his enhanced reflexes of a Shadowhunter, only to be consumed in a light pink aura that ripped him off his feet and against the wall, pinning him there unable to move his arms and legs. It wasn't any kind of sorcery from a warlock that he'd ever known, perhaps some faerie magic was possible, but nothing he could recall at the moment.

'**_A witch,_**' his mind told him as his memories slowly returned. '**_Not demons, not warlocks, not faeries, but witches. They have powers that threaten even the gods, and they will use Lyle and then Finnegan and Merida when they are strong enough for its liking._**'

"I've gone by many names, so take your pick."

"What was your _first_ name then?"

Lyle paused in thought. "Guðrún - but that's a little hard to pronounce, so let's go with the other one: Kriemhild. I'm one of many children of the great Grímhildr. And I need a new body - particularly the body of the Oracle's child. Do you _know_ how long it took me to track down the next Oracle? First it took seeking out an angel in order to even get a list of _names_ for each Oracle, and when the Oracle always knows you're coming, it's not exactly easy to even _encounter_ one. Thanks to Valentine Morgenstern I was able to get what I needed, and he recommended me this nice man right here in order to marry Ellesmira. Of course I knew it'd take a while for her to awaken her Oracle powers, and so I kept my distance in case she learned the truth too soon, but what can really be done when an Oracle knows all there is to know about the past, present, and future? Not to mention that every generation I have to find a new suitable host for me. Now, however, it was _all_ worth it. Once we have the next Oracle as one of our kind, we'll be one step closer to our goal. Our mother will be brought back and we'll all replace the gods."

"Did you ever consider that the Oracle would make sure that you were stopped at all costs?"

"Well I don't see your dear sister _here_ now, do I? An Oracle is a slave to their duty, a slave to time. They make sure that the future that happens is the proper one or they face the consequences. Apparently, I'm just doing what the future dictates by having accomplished my goals. Of course we'll be able to fix that when one of us becomes the Oracle: me. Unfortunately for you, it seems that you are fated to die here and there's nothing she can do about it. When Ellesmira's children inherit the power of the Oracle upon her death, I'll already switch bodies to become that one. The only question remains of which one that I choose. Finnegan has a high position in the Shadowhunter world, but he's made too much of a scene for me to properly be able to change his entire personality, the foolish boy. He takes after his mother and her…eccentric style a bit too much. On the other hand, Merida is a hard nut to crack, and her mental defenses are far more powerful than I anticipated. Plus, she's now being guarded by that _traitor_ pretending to be a Shadowhunter. And Finnegan is being watched over by that moon goddess. I think she's already onto me. How quaint. Also that fire-bird is with him, of all the places to be when he was reborn - how he was even reborn in the _first_ place is still up for debate. But this challenge is nothing compared to the centuries of waiting that I've done. I just have to choose one of them to kill off and the other to possess. Simple, really. I'd love to see the look on my brother's face if I took over the girl, but at the same time he's probably keeping an extra close eye on her, the fool."

"Your brother?"

"Oh, I have _many_ siblings, like I said. But only one of them is a traitor to our cause. The fool got himself transformed into an Astral and _what_ did he do?! He didn't help the _rest_ of us join him! He took the power of the gods and left us! On top of that, since he's one of us, he's immune to the Astral curse we made and even knows how to _cure_ it now. After _all_ we've gone through together he turns to the other side the moment he gets the chance. But no matter. If the other option is to kill his precious new pet of a human, then so be it. Merida has always been a nuisance anyway, so quick to come to conclusions, so slow on the uptake that things are changing. How blissfully innocent that girl is. As for _you_ Samuel, well you're of no use to me. If it makes you feel any better, Lyle really did like you as a brother in law. Too bad he never got to be your friend like both of you hoped."

He held up his vial of liquid crystal fire and whispered a small enchantment as it began to glow brighter.

"I'll spare you the dramatic speech. Goodbye, Samuel. Your sister's children will mourn for you - for as long as they can, at least."

He dropped the vial and it shattered on the carpet, instantly setting it ablaze with green flame. Lyle casually walked out as the flames spread to devour the whole room instantly. To Samuel's surprise, he was released from his paralyzed state the moment the door close behind Lyle, but he knew that it was just a lie. A sense of hope that he could find a way to survive. And he tried. He put all his power into an unlock rune, but the door might as well have been part of the wall itself, just painted on there for decoration. He grabbed for books that might have ways to get him out, but most of them were set ablaze before he could even think about grabbing them. He took a paperweight from his desk and chucked it at the window, and though he had never attempted to break the glass before, he had hoped that it would at least crack. Instead, the stuff seemed to be made of plastic the way that the paperweight was repelled. The fire consumed him slowly, he flailed his limbs instinctively to ward off the heat, but he knew he was doomed.

He thought about sending a fire message too late, for he could barely move his hand for his stele, let alone come up with a way to write out everything he'd learned. He tried anyway. He thought about everything Lyle had told him and grabbed his stele to try and push his will through it, but he wasn't sure he could move anymore. If anything happened, he would never know it.

When the heat turned to cool against his skin, he knew that he was dying. He even thought that he saw his sister. She was dead, wasn't she? He was sure that was the case, his mind clouded by death. Yeah, maybe this was him seeing her again in the afterlife.

"_Brother?_"

He felt tears flow at hearing her voice again.

"_I'm sorry. I suppose I'm a pretty useless Oracle. I couldn't even save _you_. But I guess that's the price. When you can see futures all around you and have the power to choose the right one, you're never able to, huh?_"

"Mira…"

No. She was alive. She had lived. She wasn't dead, she had just faked it.

"_I left you, I couldn't save you, and I learned my lesson like all Oracles must: there is only so much we can do on our own. If we change important events for our own gain, we lose a piece of our life, we slowly wither away, because that's the price of this power. I tried to save you, and the only reason I'm still alive is because I didn't. Now, all I can do is hope that I can save my children. And that I can do it before I face the consequences._"

"No! No you must live! They need to see you're okay!"

Her gentle smile was filled with regret. "_I'm not okay, Samuel. I never will be again. But this power does give me _one_ thing. One thing that can make me okay for a little longer._"

She reached out her hand invitingly and he took it without hesitation, the heat of the flames and the pain dying away to be replaced with a gentle breeze. She smiled again, this time grinning with that quirky face he wished he could see one more time ever since he learned she was dead.

"_Let's go, brother. Ave atque vale. You will rest with the angels. But until then…_" Her head tilted in a smirk that he recognized as her face of mischief. "_We have work to do._"

* * *

Fionn set the paper ablaze, silently cursing his brother. He was still a boy, in a way, Fionn knew, but it was no excuse. Mark Blackthorn and the thought of losing him seemed to be too much for him. Kieran was afraid, so he needed to make Mark afraid as well.

"Mark," Julian Blackthorn said, moving forward with his hand out. "It's me. It's Jules."

"Lies," Mark snarled. "Hallucinations…I know you…Gwyn sent you to trick me-"

"Gwyn has done no such thing," Fionn stated.

"I'm your brother," Julian said again.

The look on Mark's face was wild. "You know the wishes of my heart. And you turn them against me, like knives." Mark whirled on Jules. His eyes were wild, unseeing. "You bring the twins in front of me and you kill them over and over. My Ty, he doesn't understand why I can't save him. You bring me Dru and when she laughs and asks to see the fairy-tale castle, all ringed rough with hedges, you throw her against the thorns until they pierce her small body. And you bid me to wash in Octavian's blood, for the blood of an innocent child is magic under the hill."

Fionn wrapped his arms around Mark from behind, and despite the boy's predictable resistance, Fionn was stronger than him. Julian was remembering what Jace Herondale and Clary Fairchild had told him and his sister, their meeting with Mark years ago under the faerie hills, his broken eyes and the whip marks on his body. Mark was strong, he had told himself in the dead darkness of a thousand nights afterward. He could endure it. Julian had thought only about the torture of the body. He had not thought about torture of the mind.

"And Julian," Mark said. "He is too strong to break. You try to break him on the wheel, and tear him with thorns and blades, but even then he won't give up. So you bring to him Emma, for the wishes of our hearts are knives to you."

Fionn hated it, but he opened his mouth and began to sing the melody that he had once heard during a visit to a church with Finnegan (as Hunter). They had decided to go on another mission together, but Hunter had been forced to sneak out to do so, and therefore he needed weapons without his Institute knowing about it. All locations related to religion aided Shadowhunters, and to the two of them had gone there and heard a choir singing as they snuck to the hidden room with the Shadowhunter weapons.

"_Angels, where you soar_  
"_Up to God's own light_  
"_Take my own lost bird_  
"_On your hearts tonight_.

"_And as grief, once more_  
"_Mounts to Heaven and sings~_  
"_Let my love_  
"_Be heard~_

Mark slowly began to relax thanks to the magic imbued within the song. Fionn hadn't sung in a long time, and it took its toll.

"Speak to him now," Fionn said, feeling his throat already straining. "He will listen, but you must make him believe your words."

"Mark," Julian said. "Mark Antony Blackthorn. Please. It's not a dream. You're really here. You're home."

Julian reached for Mark's hand, but Mark pulled back. "You…you are lying smoke…"

But the sureness in his voice was already diminishing.

"I'm your brother."

"I have no brothers and sisters, no family. I am alone. I…I ride with the Wild Hunt. I am loyal to Gwyn the Hunter."

Mark recited the words as if by rote, but his tone was empty, even pitifully desperate. He wanted to believe this was real, he did, but at the same time, if it _was_, the relief might be enough to break him more than any of the hallucinations ever did.

"Gwyn is not here," Fionn assured him. "This is Julian Blackthorn. He is your blood."

"He is a phantom and a shadow. You are the cruelty of hope." Mark turned his face away. "Why do you punish me? I have done nothing to displease the Hunt."

"You have done nothing to displease the Hunt," Fionn repeated, his words having a greater impact with his inability to lie.

"There is no punishment," Julian insisted.

"No punishment intended as such in regards to your actions," Fionn corrected. "Perhaps such a great change in environment will prove a great threat relatable to torture."

"Not helping," Julian hissed. He took another step closer, softening his features in the disguising way that Julian Blackthorn was very adept at. "This is home, Mark. I can prove it to you."

"There is no proof," Mark whispered. "Not when you can weave any illusion before my eyes. Fionn Flann holds benevolence for my person." He closed his eyes and relaxed into Fionn's grip. "Gwyn knows such. He would no doubt use even my closest comrades against me."

"Quite a dilemma indeed," Fionn admitted.

When one was tortured within their own mind, nothing could be trusted. As long as the recipient knew certain information, an illusion could easily be made using the memory of it. Everything within someone's own mind could be turned against them. There was no secret truth only shared between Mark and Julian that didn't have the possibility of simply being Mark _expecting_ Julian to know it. But such a trial wasn't impossible to overcome. All Fionn had to do was act exactly how Mark would never expect. Faeries were smart, but in no reality would they ever expect an abnormal Fionn to be effective. It was so absurd that it just might work, and Fionn had been practicing his human speech thanks to his friends.

"Mark, would you shut up and stop being a big baby?" Fionn said, his mouth feeling awkward from the new tone he was adopting. "There's no freaking torture, man. I get it, faeries are tricky and stuff, but really, how much do we have to go through to convince you that this isn't some stupid illusion? I don't know about you, but Julian Blackthorn _can't_ have looked like _that_ with all the time that's passed between when you were last here. He's older, right? Duh, of course he is. But no matter the illusion, faeries can't mimic the adaptations that he'd have gone through with all these years. Not only are we _really_ bad at understanding how humans deal with all the lying and the lack of respect for basically everything that would make sense for the fey, but to be able to predict who someone evolves into over time? No one stays the same person forever, not if they're not an illusion. Man up, shut your mouth, and _look_ at him. Ask him anything and think about your Julian. Are they exactly the same? If they are, it's an illusion no doubt. But if he's changed beyond what you've always known him as, you know that he's not a fake. Or at least, he's _way_ too unconvincing of a fake to be effective. We're not _stupid_, Mark. We know what's worth trying and what's just plain dumb."

Fionn had to take a deep breath after the effort it took to procure that rant. If only Pyre and Wolf could see him now. He released Mark and shoved him forward to Julian. Though Mark stumbled, he didn't fall over and he backed away from Julian again like the boy was made of poison.

"Show him, dear Julian. Show him who you are - the boy he remembers, and the man that you have grown to become."

Julian stared at Fionn for a moment before redirecting his gaze to Mark. "I'm your brother. And to prove it to you, I'll tell you something only your brother would know."

At that, Mark raised his eyes to glare at Julian curiously. Like it or not, he was interested. Fionn had made a point, he had gotten to Mark, there was no denying it. _Something_ was up, and despite his best efforts, he was becoming convinced. Something flickered in his eyes, like a light shining on distant water.

"I remember the day you were taken," Julian continued.

Mark recoiled. "Any of the Folk would know about that-"

"We were up in the training room. We heard noises, and you went downstairs. But before you went you said something to me. Do you remember?"

Mark stood very still.

"You said, 'Stay with Emma.' You said to stay with her, and I have." He turned and pulled down the collar of his shirt to show a rune on his shoulder that Fionn recognized as a parabatai rune (since Hunter had shown him his when he had gotten his own). "We're parabatai now. I've looked after her for years and I always will, because you asked me to, because it was the last thing you ever said to me, because-"

He seemed to remember, then, that Fionn was still in the room, and cut himself off abruptly. Whatever he had wanted to say, Fionn knew that he shouldn't be around to hear it. Fionn felt the urge to exit the room and leave the brothers alone, but the moment was gone. Mark was staring at Julian, silent. Julian's despair was evident. Maybe this was a trick of the faeries; maybe they had given Mark back, but so broken and hollowed out that he wasn't Mark anymore. Fionn wanted to reassure him, but there were no words that Fionn could say honestly. Mark was no longer the person he had been, he could never be purely Nephilim like his family desired. Fionn didn't _want_ that, but he also didn't want Mark to not have his family. Kin was something that the Fair Folk understood the importance of.

Mark nearly fell forward, and threw his arms around Julian. Julian barely managed to catch himself before almost falling. Mark was whipcord thin, but strong, his hands fisting in Julian's shirt. Julian could feel Mark's heart hammering, feel the sharp bones under his skin. He smelled like earth and mildew and grass and nighttime air.

"Julian," Mark choked out, his body shaking. "Julian, my brother, my brother, Julian."

Fionn recalled that Mark was supposed to be Julian's older brother. As an older brother himself, Fionn knew that a younger brother was supposed to be able to rely on his older sibling. They were supposed to be able to look to their brother when they were afraid. Fionn was the one who hugged Kieran tight when he learned of their mother's death. Fionn was the one who had sung lullabies to Kieran when he couldn't sleep, the one that helped Kieran with his studies and warded off their brothers that threatened Kieran. Fionn was the one that taught Kieran to fight, yet he was also the one that never stopped defending him from the horrors that he might have to combat.

Julian Blackthorn had become the eldest Blackthorn when Mark and fair Alessa - Helen - had been taken away. He had to bear the burden of four younger children along with Emma Carstairs and even Arthur Blackthorn. It was Julian Blackthorn that already held a burden that his elder siblings should have shared with him. Where once Mark had held him tight to shield him from his sorrow, now Julian held the fragile Mark under his hands. He would be holding Mark from now on. When it should have been Mark wrapping his arms around Julian, the opposite was what Fionn witnessed. Julian tightened his hands on Mark and adjusted his heart to bear the new burden.

* * *

The library in the Los Angeles Institute was small - nothing like the famous libraries of New York and London, but well-known regardless for its surprisingly large collection of books in Greek and Latin. They had more books on the magic and occultism of the classical period than the Institute in Vatican City. Once the library had been terra-cotta tile and Mission windows; now it was a starkly modern room. The old library had been destroyed in Sebastian Morgenstern's attack on the Institute, the books scattered among bricks and desert. Rebuilt, it was glass and steel. The floor was polished mountain ash, smooth and shining with applications of protective spells.

A spiral ramp began at the north side of the first floor and climbed the walls; the outer side of the ramp was lined with books and windows, while the inner, facing the library's interior, was a shoulder-high railing. At the very top was an oculus - a skylight held closed with a large copper lock, made of foot-thick glass decorated all over with protective runes. Maps were kept in a massive chest decorated with the crest of the Blackthorn family - a ring of thorns - with their family motto beneath it: '_Lex malla, lex nulla_' - 'A bad law is no law.' Finnegan loved the Blackthorns for their motto alone. He suspected that the Blackthorns hadn't exactly always gotten along with the Council.

Finn knew he should be at the San Francisco Institute, but he'd already dealt with a mountain of paperwork just from his new duties as the Head alone. He needed a break, and Selina had volunteered to take his place for a while. Finn had taken the opportunity to go visit the Blackthorns and by extension Fionn. Sadly, it seemed they were preoccupied. Mark was finally coming around to the idea that maybe he was really home again, and the others were nowhere to be seen. Turns out, they were in the library, but just the idea of having to do more reading gave Finn a migraine.

He instead went up to his room, nice and secluded, and began to play his violin. Playing always calmed him, and he was becoming attached to a violin even more. He could transform his violin into a guitar if he wanted to, but he was challenging himself to learn more songs on his violin the old fashion way rather than relying on its enchantment.

"Finnegan." He looked up and saw Emma Carstairs standing at the door to his room. "Hey, where'd you disappear to? I heard the music, so…"

He shrugged. "Long story."

She walked over and took a seat beside him on the bed. "Well, you've been gone for a day with Selina without a word, and now suddenly you're back. We need to compare notes. And we've been searching for information about what we got from Malcolm's with little success. Julian has been with Mark this entire time - Cristina's reported giving them food and water, but beyond that they've just been talking. Fionn's there too, but he's been pretty quiet, or so I've been told. He's been asking about you."

"I'm fine. Sorry, but we had a little crisis back at our Institute. Nothing to get worked up about, but let's just say that paperwork was involved. A lot of it."

"So you come here to escape the paperwork gods? Sneaky, Finn, very sneaky."

He chuckled. "I can play my violin anywhere, but I like it here. Things are…not as _fun_ at the Frisco Institute."

"How long have you been playing?"

He shrugged. "I guess…since I was Tavvy's age maybe? Dunno the exact date, but I found the music room in the Institute and instantly fell in love. I wanted to learn how to play at least one tune with every instrument that existed. _You_ ever played? Jem's an expert at the violin, and I'd assume that a fellow Carstairs has some skill."

She snorted. "I tried when I was little, but I soon gave up. You know Jem?"

"We stay in touch."

"Where is he?"

Finn shrugged. "A place where he can get away from all the horrors that he's had to endure throughout his life. After everything, he deserves it more than anyone."

"Not allowed to disclose?"

He shook his head. "Not without permission. He just…needs a break. I hope you can understand, Emma."

She sat down beside him. "I guess so. As long as he's doing well."

Finn held out his seraph violin. "Here, give it a try. It's enchanted, might be easier."

Emma looked like she was having some horrific flashback. "Uh, no thanks. I'm terrible, I'll have you running for the hills in an instant."

He stood and took her hand, pulling her to her feet and slipping the violin into place, moving her hands into position. He stuck the bow in her other hand before she could realize what was happening and then he started to position her fingers on the violin.

"Come on. I can teach you so that you can impress Jem the next time you see him. Besides, it's a weaponized instrument. You'll have the demons fleeing if you're that bad. And if you turn out to be good…well, nothing ventured, nothing gained." He placed her fingers and then moved her wrist with the bow gently. "Don't grip the bow too hard. You shouldn't be trying to destroy the strings, you have to brush them lightly."

The violin played a single note, and Emma, being nervous at the close contact and the idea of accidentally embarrassing herself in front of an expert, tensed up and pushed the bow too hard.

"No," Finn scolded calmly. "Take a deep breath. Feel the music flow through you, lift you up, make you light as a cloud."

Emma closed her eyes and did what he said, taking a deep breath and relaxing her muscles, letting him guide her hands. The note that came from the violin was actually decent, she thought to herself. Finn continued to move the bow, changing the angle so that when it went down it made a different sound than when it came up. He then repositioned her fingers and played again. He was playing a song - _she_ was playing a song. She imagined a flowing river, moving gently downstream with every note smoothly flowing with it. She imagined the clouds slowly moving across the sky from a breeze, floating on air into the sunset.

To Emma's surprise, she felt…different. She had been consumed by her problems - her desire for revenge, her confusion with her parabatai, with Mark. All of it had started to weigh her down, a heavy burden that she was trying to deal with, one problem at a time, but for just a moment, playing that song, she felt like it was all gone. Was this how Finn felt all the time? Or did he play his instrument for that exact purpose? To lift the weight off his shoulders that would always be there. He held that weight somehow, he held it by making sure that he was in control of it all.

"Whoa!"

Emma's eyes snapped open to see Livvy standing at the doorway, gaping at her and Finn. It took Emma a moment to process what was wrong, but then she finally processed that the doorway was a little lower than it should have been. She was floating, they both were, at least a foot or two off the carpet below.

Emma couldn't help but cry out as she suddenly dropped and hit the floor. Luckily it was carpet and her reflexes helped her land on her feet, but her heart was still pounding from the shock of what had just happened. She looked back to Finn, who was still floating, as he held the violin and bow that Emma had released when she'd fallen.

"Not the most graceful way to end a song, but okay," he said. He gently lowered to the carpet and put his weapons on his back again. "What's up, Livvy? Have something for us?"

She blinked. "Oh, uh, right. Dru's got that map with the ley lines that you mentioned. We're ready for your input."

Emma nodded. "You wanna join?"

Finn sheathed his violin and nodded. "Yeah. What have you got?"

-**_TTOT_**-

The map of Los Angeles probably dated back to the forties. Landmarks were visible under the black ley lines drawn on: the Crossroads of the World in Hollywood, the Bullocks building on Wilshire, the Angels Flight railroad in Bunker Hill, the Santa Monica Pier, the never-changing curve of the coast and the ocean.

"All the bodies were left under the span of a ley line. But what Magnus said is that there are places where all the ley lines converge."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Livvy asked, practical as always.

"I don't know, but I don't think he would have said it if it didn't matter."

"A place of convergence would have some pretty powerful magic," Finn said. "But finding it would be very hard, no doubt. If someone was trying to use necromancy, I'd imagine that requires a lot of power. Murders might be sacrifices for necromancy. Whether it's related to your parents or not, there have been a few instances of necromancers popping up here and there. But even if they were related, your parents' deaths were _years_ ago. Whatever sparked necromancy to pop up again, it can't be good."

Ty got to work studying the map while Cristina waved for Emma to follow her out of the room for a status update on Mark and Julian.

"That doesn't make sense," Livvy said.

"Well, I can't help it if it doesn't make sense," Ty said peevishly. "That's where it says the convergence is."

"Where?" Emma asked when she returned with Cristina in tow, each holding a cup of coffee in their hands.

"Here." Dru pointed at a circle Ty had sketched on the map in pencil. It was over the ocean, farther out from Los Angeles than Catalina Island. "So much for anyone doing magic there."

"Don't underestimate how desperate someone could get if they were determined," Finn advised. "All it would take is a little magic to build something there or maybe just riches. Let's see if there are any human records related to that location. Maybe some fishermen found something, maybe there are ruins there or it's known for magic lights. Mundanes like to make myths out of everything, and even in the more modern age, they still like to conspire. Magic like that would at least have _some_ impact that humanity would notice, even if they wouldn't think too much of it."

"Or maybe Magnus was just making conversation," Livvy pointed out skeptically.

"Hey, who's the adult here?"

"Julian?"

The genuine guessing tone as though Livvy really was answering a question made Finn's eyes narrow. "Why you little-"

He was interrupted by the library doors opening. It was Julian. He stepped into the room and then moved to the side, diffidently, like a conjuror presenting the result of a trick. Mark moved into the doorway after him with Fionn following behind. Julian must have gotten Mark's old things out of the storeroom, as he was wearing jeans that were slightly short on him - probably a pair of his old ones - and one of Julian's T-shirts, heather gray and washed to a soft fadedness. In contrast, his hair looked very blonde, almost silvery. It hit his shoulders, looking slightly less tangled, as if he'd brushed the twigs out of it at least.

"Hello," he said.

His siblings looked at him in silent, wide-eyed astonishment. Fionn looked to Mark for a second before reaching up and pulling a small leaf out of his blonde locks. The sight made Finn want to smile - Fionn thought that it was the leaf that had Mark's siblings so distracted.

"Mark wanted to see you," Julian said.

He reached around to ruffle the hair on the back of his neck, looking bemused, as if he had no idea what to do next.

"You received many gifts upon your arrival," Fionn whispered, nudging Mark lightly.

"Oh, yes," Mark blinked, as though just remembering lines they had practiced together. "I would like to thank you. For the gifts of welcome you gave me."

The Blackthorns continued to stare. Nobody moved except Tavvy. In a clear bowl on the table's center was a heap of sea glass the Blackthorns had collected over the years - lumps of milky blue, green, copper, and red. The blue glass was being used to weigh down the edges of the ley line map, while Tavvy had begun sorting the rest of the sea glass into piles by color at the edge of the table. It was amusing how Emma didn't know how else to keep Tavvy distracted. Now, Tavvy only moved to set his sea glass down, providing an amusing scene as everyone seemed confused about how to act.

"The box," Mark clarified. "In my room."

Finn finally let out a chuckle. Even Mark was doing it, attempting to fix something because he genuinely didn't seem to understand why the Blackthorns seemed so confused. Cristina, not a Blackthorn and therefore not temporarily paralyzed, plucked Emma's coffee out of her hands with an indignant noise from the blonde. Cristina crossed the room, past the table, and walked up to Mark, her back straight, and held out the mug.

"Do you want some?" she asked.

Looking relieved, he took it. He lifted it to his mouth and swallowed, his whole family watching him in amazed fascination as if he were doing something no one had ever done before. Then, he grimaced, and Finn started to remember that one time when Lock had tried to introduce Fae to coffee without cream. Even adding sugar hadn't been enough to make the taste bearable for the faerie.

Moving away from Cristina, he coughed and spit. "What is that?"

Fionn instantly snatched the cup and put it to his lips, tipping it just slightly so he could get a few drops on his tongue. He hissed and held the cup out. "Coffee."

"It tastes of the most bitter poison," Mark said indignantly.

Cristina looked startled, and Finn walked over to put his hand on her shoulder. "Coffee is a very human thing. It's not for everyone, and it takes getting used to. Not to mention a lot of people like coffee in different ways. I've never been able to get Fa…_Fionn_ onto coffee in all our time knowing each other."

"I would consume the 'coff-ee' only should my life or the lives of my closest relations be at risk, no sooner," Fionn agreed firmly, his tone as serious as if he were being threatened into public humiliation.

"And you know he's serious because he can't lie."

Livvy suddenly giggled, the sound cutting through the stillness of the rest of the room, the frozen tableau of the others. "You used to _love_ coffee! I _remember_ that about you!"

"I can't imagine why I would have," Mark said, making a face. "I've never tasted something so disgusting."

Ty's eyes flicked between Julian and Livvy; he looked eager and excited, his long fingers tapping at the table in front of him. "He isn't used to coffee anymore. They don't have it in Faerie."

"For good reason," Fionn said. "The abhorrent creation is a poison of the human world I have no desire to become properly acquainted with."

"Here," Livvy said, standing and scooping an apple from the table. "Have this instead." She went forward and held out the apple to her brother. She looked like a latter-day Snow White, with her long dark hair and the apple in her pale hand. "You don't mind apples, do you?"

"My thanks, gracious sister," Mark said, bowing and taking the apple, while Livvy looked at him with her mouth partially open.

"You never call me 'gracious sister,'" she said, turning to Julian with an accusing look.

He grinned. "I know you too well, runt."

"It seems familiarity inhibits mannerisms quite drastically," Fionn muttered.

Mark reached up and drew the chain from around his throat. Dangling from the end of it was what looked like the head of an arrow. It was clear, as if made of glass, not colored like Finn's. He unconsciously reached up to touch his chest where his elf-bolt was hidden under his shirt, and the action was not unnoticed by Fionn. Mark began to use the edge of it to peel his apple, matter-of-factly. Tavvy, who had crawled under the table again and was looking out, made an interested noise. Mark glanced at him and winked. Tavvy ducked back under the table, but Finn could see he was smiling.

"Did you like the presents?" Dru demanded, swiveling around on the table, her round face anxious. "I put bread and butter in for you in case you were hungry."

"I did not know what all of them were," Mark said candidly. "The clothes were very useful. The black metal object-"

"That was my microscope," Ty said, looking at Julian for approval. "I thought you might like it."

Julian leaned against the table. He didn't ask Ty why Mark would want a microscope, just smiled his sideways, gentle smile. "That was nice of you, Ty."

"Tiberius wants to be a detective," Livvy explained to Mark. "Like Sherlock Holmes."

Mark looked puzzled. "Is that someone we know? Like a warlock?"

"He's a book character," Dru said, laughing.

"He's very famous in the mundane world," Finn said. "Even Shadowhunters have gotten affected by the literature of the mundanes."

"I've got all the Sherlock Holmes books," Ty said. "I know all the stories. There are fifty-six short stories and four novels. I can tell them to you. And I'll show you how to use the microscope."

"I think I buttered it," Mark admitted, looking shamefaced. "I did not remember it was a scientific tool."

Fionn smiled. "It _did_ fail to appear as proper sustenance."

Ty was meticulous about his things and could be deeply upset by anyone touching them or moving them. But he didn't look angry. Something about Mark's candidness seemed to delight him, the way he sometimes was delighted by an unusual kind of demonic ichor or the life cycle of bees.

Mark had cut his apple into careful pieces and was eating them slowly, in the manner of someone who was used to making what food they had last. He was quite thin, thinner than a Shadowhunter his age would usually be - Shadowhunters were encouraged to eat and train, eat and train, build their muscle and stamina. Most Shadowhunters, due to their constant brutal physical training, ranged from wiry to muscular, though Drusilla was round-bodied, something that bothered her more the older she got. Emma always felt pained to see the blush that colored Dru's cheeks when the gear designed for girls in her age group didn't fit.

"I heard you speak of convergences," Mark said, moving towards the others, carefully, as if unsure of his welcome.

Fionn stayed at the doors, looking to Finn for permission. Unlike Mark, he wasn't some long-lost brother miraculously returned - the Blackthorns still had trouble trusting him. Finn nodded, urging Fionn to come and sit next to him.

"If I may, the convergence of ley lines is a place where dark magic can be done undetected. The Fair Folk know much of ley lines, and use them often."

Mark had slung his arrowhead back around his neck; it glimmered as he bent his head to look at the map on the table.

"This is a map of ley lines in Los Angeles," Cristina said. "All of the bodies have been found along them."

"Wrong," Mark said, leaning forward.

"No, she's right," Ty said with a frown. "It _is_ a map of ley lines, and the bodies have been dumped along them."

"_Mark_ is correct," Fionn insisted. "The lines are not accurate, nor are the points of convergence."

Mark's long-fingered right hand brushed over the pencil circle Ty had made. "This is not right at all. Who made this map?"

Julian moved closer and for a moment he and his brother were shoulder to shoulder, their pale hair and dark hair a startling contrast. "It's the Institute's map, I assume."

"We took it from the trunk," Emma said, leaning over it from the opposite side of the table. "With all the other maps."

"Well, it has been tampered with," Mark declared. "We will need a correct one."

"Maybe Diana could get us one," Julian said, reaching for a pad of paper and a pencil. "Or we could ask Malcolm."

"Or I could see if I could dig one up at the Frisco Institute," Finn volunteered. "At the very least, I should be able to order _someone_ to find an accurate one. Or Lock. He knows a _ton_, and ley lines are right up his alley."

"Or we could check out the Shadow Market," Emma said, and grinned unrepentantly at Julian's look. "Just a suggestion."

Mark glanced at his brother, and then the others, clearly worried. "Was that helpful? Was it a thing I should not have said?"

"Are you sure?" Ty asked, looking from the map to his brother, and something in his face was open as a door. "That the map is incorrect?"

Mark nodded.

"Then it was helpful. We could have wasted days on a map that was wrong, maybe longer."

Mark exhaled in relief; Julian put his hand on Mark's back; Livvy and Dru beamed; Tavvy was looking out from under the table, clearly curious. The Blackthorns seemed to be wound together by a sort of invisible force; in that moment they were completely a family, and Finn didn't mind that he was on the outside.

"I could attempt to correct it," Mark said. "But I do not know if I have the skill. Helen…Helen could do it." He glanced at Julian. "She is married, and away…but I assume she will return for this? And to see me?"

It was like watching glass shatter in slow motion. None of the Blackthorns moved, not even Tavvy, but blankness spread over their features as they realized exactly how much it was that Mark didn't know.

Mark paled and slowly set the core of his apple down on the table. "What is it?"

"Mark," Julian urged, looking toward the door. "Come and talk to me in your room, not here-"

"No," Mark interrupted, his voice rising with fear. "You will tell me now. Where is my full-blood sister, the daughter of Lady Nerissa? Where is Helen?"

There was an achingly awkward silence. Mark was looking at Julian; they were no longer standing beside each other. Mark had moved away, so quietly and quickly that even Finn hadn't seen it happen. In fact, he was standing beside Fionn, and Fionn had his body defensively beside Mark - the two of them were in sync like parabatai. Finnegan assumed they had fought together often all these years and had adapted to each other's thoughts and rhythm of life - whether it be in battle or simply speaking in a conversation. Fionn was instantly willing to defend Mark, he didn't even seem to be thinking about it.

"You said she was alive," Mark said, and in his voice there was fear and accusation.

"She is," Emma hastened to say. "She's fine."

Mark made an impatient noise. "Then I would know where my sister is. Julian?"

But it wasn't Julian who answered. "She was sent away when the Cold Peace was decided," Ty said, his voice matter-of-fact. "She was exiled."

"There was a vote," Livvy added. "Some of the Clave wanted to kill her, because of her faerie blood, but Magnus Bane defended the rights of Downworlders. Helen was sent to Wrangel Island to study the wards."

Mark leaned against the table, his palm flat against it, as if he were trying to catch his breath after being punched. "Wrangel Island," he whispered. "It is a cold place, ice and snow. I have ridden over those lands with the Hunt. I never knew my sister was down there, in among the frozen wastes."

"They would never have let you see her, even if you had known," Julian said.

"We would have found a way," Fionn insisted. "Miach deserved the chance to meet Alessa."

"You let her be sent away," Mark growled, his two-colored eyes flashing. "You let them exile her."

"We were children; I was _twelve years old_." Julian didn't raise his voice; his blue eyes were flat and cold. "We had no choice. We talk to Helen every week, we petition the Clave every year for her return."

"Speech and petitions," Mark spat. "Might as well do nothing. I knew…I knew they had chosen not to come for me. I knew they had abandoned me to the Wild Hunt." He swallowed painfully. "I thought it was because they feared Gwyn and the vengeance of the Hunt. Not because they hated and despised me."

"It wasn't hate," Julian said. "It was _fear_."

Fionn put a placating hand on Mark's shoulders. "The ways of Nephilim are not shared by your siblings. They harbor no ill will towards you or Ale…_Helen_. To raise arms against the Clave would be suicidal. They are great in numbers for a single bloodline, but they are no army."

"They said that we couldn't look for you," Ty said. He had taken one of his toys out of his pocket: a length of cord that he often ran through and under his fingers, bending and shaping it into figure eights. "That it was forbidden. It's forbidden to visit Helen too."

Mark looked toward Julian, and his eyes were dark with anger, black and bronze. "Did you ever even try?"

"I won't fight with you, Mark," Julian said.

"You won't fight _for_ me either," Mark countered. "That much is clear." He glanced around the room. "I have come back to a world where I am not wanted, it seems."

"Miach!"

But Mark slammed his way out of the library.

Fionn sat with a sigh, and Finnegan rested his hand on Fionn's. "You did what you could. But this is the reality of things. Just let him cool down."

Fionn stood. "He has been taught by the fey that Nephilim will not accept him, that his family had long since abandoned him. If you desire his trust, you must do more than simply claim he is home with no proof. A home is a place you will be accepted no matter your blood, no matter who protests. My own family treated me as if I were a parasite clinging to them and leeching their vitality. Only within the Hunt did my blood not matter. Mark has found a home in a dangerous place, but it was a place that accepted him. All your talk of him being unconditionally Shadowhunter are false, and I believe this meeting has proved such. He is not a full-blood fey, he is not a full-blood Nephilim. Do not treat him as one or the other, for _I_ have never done so and I have become his greatest ally in return. You cannot defeat the Clave with words; you will become a savage if you use naught but physical force. I believe you love your brother, but you fail to show properly. I may yet begin to reconsider. If you believe he will choose you over the Hunt at present, you are sorely mistaken. I suggest you fix this dilemma if you desire his return so."

With that, Fionn briskly exited and headed to Mark's room. Unsurprisingly, the lock upon the door was fastened tightly, and Fionn didn't know the rune to unlock it even if that was an option. He considered numerous way to break in, the first of which he chose as he went to the nearest open room and climbed out the window.

-**_TTOT_**-

Fionn found Mark Blackthorn sitting atop the roof of the Institute.

Initially, Fionn had planned to break into Mark's room, but he was silently relieved it hadn't come to that. As if he needed any other reason to augment the Blackthorn's mistrust of him. Fionn knew that Kieran was watching over Mark when possible, but he still had duties in the Hunt and so his schedule was undetermined. This might have served as a prime moment for him to speak with Mark alone, but Fionn saw no evidence of his brother, and so he entered the fray.

"Miach," Fionn called, pulling himself up and onto the roof with ease. "How do you fare?"

Mark looked to Fionn for only a moment before gazing back up at the stars. "What brings you?"

Fionn moved to sit beside Mark, trying to choose his words carefully. The Blackthorns would be too obvious of a subject, so taking the thought of Kieran a little further, he spoke.

"My brother fears for your wellbeing, as you may have surmised. He has known great pain from all - from family, from allies, from Shadowhunters. All we have heard of your kind is their cruelty and abandonment of you. We fear what may become of you in this land. Your faerie blood to Shadowhunters brings you as much turmoil as your Shadowhunter blood to faeries. We've not a guarantee of your health."

"Tell me, Fionn Hunter, son of the Unseelie King, full-blooded brother to Kieran. What is real and what is lie?"

"You speak of your family?" Mark nodded. "Your brothers and sisters are real. That much I can say with confidence. They are not the glamours of your mind you have faced in years past. Nephilim promises, _they_ are suspect. I fear I am incapable of discerning their deceit. You are no more safe in the Shadowhunter world than you are in Faerie. Kieran merely wishes you take care. I share his sentiments. We do not wish to see you victim to the darkness of which Shadowhunters and the Clave are capable."

"My family is real?" Mark asked firmly.

Fionn nodded. "Yes."

Mark took a deep breath. "This choice remains tangible."

Fionn looked up to the stars and the view from the roof to the ocean. Fionn hated water, he hated the smell of the sea and the humidity of storms. Still, he'd grown up with Kieran all his life, and water was still essential to survival. Many rivers in Faerie were merely made of blood, and he didn't mind the fact that Gwyn seldom allowed the Hunt to seek out fresh water. He could appreciate the view, at least. Faerieland was more extravagant, but the change of scenery was still admirable. Fionn could see it and through it, the demons down under the sea, and yet it was no different than some views he had witnessed traveling with the Hunt.

"They believe that you belong to them, Miach," Fionn said. "They tell themselves that you will no doubt choose them over us, they believe that you are unconditionally loyal simply because of your origins and gained naught in the Hunt but pain. You are a part of the Hunt, you swore fealty to Gwyn. And you have sworn your heart to my brother. Neither is an oath to take lightly. I have learned many things over my lifetime, and one of the most prominent lessons is that blood means nothing to faeries. Shadowhunters, they believe blood tells all of one's nature and their heart and intentions mean nothing. To them, blood is destiny. But I have learned they are wrong. Blood means nothing of destiny. We are simply taught about life from our youth by our forebears, and are therefore expected to become identical. But there are always exceptions, and some even learn from their predecessors. We evolve, we are not always what we are told to be. And yet Shadowhunters cannot learn to accept such wisdom. Trusting them, no matter their blood, is not something to take lightly."

Mark's eyes seemed glazed over in thought. He'd had the conflict within him for ages now, his heart torn between everything he loved and everything he owed.

"But your heart belongs to no one but yourself," Fionn continued. "When you make your choice - if you are given the choice at all - you must not base it off of debt. If what you have for my brother is nothing but payment for his kindness, then you are crueler than the blackest of faeries."

"I do not pity him; I do not give myself as recompense," Mark declared. "Kieran has spoken of such things with me before - he desires me, but more than that, he loves me without expectation. I wish to repay him, yes, but even if I have given his due I would love him beyond what I owe."

"And if you stay with your family out of obligation to your familial relations? I would do anything for my brother, even leave the one I love. That kind of painful choice is something I do not envy you for. But I also have brothers that I abhor, I have those I bow down to simply because they are my relatives, but I would sooner castrate most of my half-brothers than claim love for them. Even those that I tolerate are not those that I would sacrifice my love for. Do not be persuaded simply because these people believe this is the only place you belong. And do not believe that the Hunt is the only place you will find love. These people shall tell you that you must stay, the Hunt will tell you there is nowhere to go. But you must not listen to what others say. The more sure of themselves they sound, the more arrogant and vain they really are. Your family wishes to take what back what's theirs, same as the Hunt does. But none of their opinions matter. You belong to neither your family nor the Hunt, and both are foolish for claiming to know your mind and have full influence over you. You must choose what makes you happy. You have that right now, a choice - do not waste it giving yourself to others, because I have done that all my life, and you would be wise to take freedom you acquire. Kieran would be devastated, but I would not be bewildered should you choose one love over six."

"Six?"

"Helen. Julian. Tiberius. Livia. Drusilla. Octavian. Six names. I am fully aware of numerical dialects - I can count."

"I've not implied you are incapable. But how did you-?"

"Every night, with no exceptions, you would count the stars and name them in that order each time. I suppose I failed to account for Emma Carstairs as well as Cristina Rosales, yet the point remains the same. You believe that Kieran was the only one to pay you mind? I watched, each night, as you repeated the names of your lost loves without fail. You held onto hope, even in the face of despair. You clung to whatever life you had left, the family left behind, even as your title was shamed, your back whipped, your body deprived of nutrients, and your hope destroyed. You truthfully gazed into the vast and deep darkness of despair and never attempted to look away, no lies to yourself or others - you let it make you stronger, made it so that you might fear nothing. I would not accept anyone less for my brother. So now, as you stand with this query, I will respect your decisions as I have all others."

Mark's head fell before he looked up at the sky. "I am afraid. I have always been afraid of something. I've imagined fleeing countless times, however I knew my brothers and sisters would be destroyed by the Hunt - thrown to the hounds, slaughtered, spoils of war while I could do naught but watch. Worse, I would be the one forced to do them harm. I feared they would grow to forget about me, I'd never learn what became of them. The little ones would never even know I existed, the children I _did_ know would change from the people I left them as. I could do nothing but speculate what developments would shape their lives, and I would live in Faerie wondering if no time to them has passed, or many decades."

Fionn chuckled and Mark gave him a quizzical look. "I was wrong about you, Miach. You have more to lose than I presumed. For I must protect Kieran - from the Unseelie Court to the Wild Hunt - and yet your loved ones remain far from such destruction. We live on the edge of death each day, neither nature nor Fair Folk show mercy, but what truly threatens us is the life of those we cannot bear to lose. As an eldest brother, you must understand. You have a duty to protect your siblings, put their needs before your own."

"Do you wish for me to leave the Hunt if the opportunity is presented?"

"I wish for you to leave the choice to your heart, not your obligations. I love my brother above all else, however I find myself at a crossroads. One day, I will be unable to coddle him so. I fear that day, yet I know it is inevitable. Choosing between family and lover, between debt and desire…it is a choice I know we both must make, one we both must suffer from. What I mean to say is…I will respect your choice, Miach. Though I pray thee be blessed with fortune, you will be pulled between two worlds, both believing they have a hold over you. This is not your home, the Hunt is not your home. Your home is within your heart and the hearts of those you hold dear. If we are to never cross paths again, know that I will hold no wrath towards you, and that I truly cared for you as a brother. Listen to naught but yourself and follow your heart's path."

Mark looked up to Fionn. "Why would we not cross path-?"

He looked back to Fionn, but the faerie was gone. Mark stared blankly at the place he had been, considering his words. His family had done nothing but tell him this is where he belonged, that he would never fathom returning to the Hunt of his free will, and yet they had failed to even fight for him. At the same time, the Hunt near brainwashed him into feeling there was no choice but to return.

Fionn wanted him to ignore the influence of both parties and choose on his own. He wouldn't rage if Mark chose to leave Kieran and the Hunt should the opportunity arise.

"Thank you, Fionn," he whispered into the night, right before the trapdoor to the roof opened and Mark caught a flash of blonde.

* * *

**Chapter title: "_Enemy Fire_" by Bea Miller**


	7. I Was Left to My Own Devices

**CHAPTER NAMING**

**Also I showed how far I was into Lady Midnight to Amalspach and she was like "Oh you poor child" and I was like "Yeah, I know, I hate myself." Literally I've got a very good story planned out later on. Like, I really should just get to the point, but I started and now I can't stop because I'm stubborn so here we go.**

**:)**

* * *

Leaving Mark and Emma Carstairs to speak on the roof was a terrible idea. The two of them reconciled within a few minutes of conversation, and then Emma convinced Mark to allow her to drive his steed. Just from what Fionn was able to catch, Emma Carstairs drove like a maniac. He had long since wondered why there were no women in the Wild Hunt, and Gwyn had informed him one day that the woman had become what one might call Valkyrie and because they were far fiercer than any men.

Fionn finally realized that Mark, even if he couldn't map out ley lines, he could still sense where they were strongest: at the convergence. Aka the most dangerous place in existence, and the two of them had neither armed themselves nor informed anyone of where they were going because they themselves didn't know.

"Finnegan! We are leaving!"

Finn jumped up from his bed when Fionn stormed in, rubbing his eyes and realizing that he'd fallen asleep. "You know I _love_ waking up to your beautiful face, but usually _you_ are waking up with me. You look a lot less beautiful when you're already awake."

"That is not the point. We must follow Emma Carstairs and Mark Blackthorn because they are going to get themselves killed. In addition, you look disquieted as well."

"Gee, thanks, I didn't notice."

"You have no reflection as reference; I simply wished to-"

"I once read that explaining a joke is like dissecting a frog. You find out how it works, but the frog dies in the process." He stood and stretched, grabbing his stele and slipping it into his pocket and then grabbing his violin case to sling it over himself cross-body. "Let's get moving."

* * *

"This is the place?" Finnegan asked, sliding off of Zoltan with Fae - _Fionn_ (still getting used to it) right beside him.

"I am magically adept in comparison to my kin, yet even Mark Blackthorn can sense the convergence of ley lines. This is no doubt our goal."

Fionn pointed at a dark opening in the rock of a hill rising dark in front of them. Just being in the vicinity of the convergence definitely made Finn feel uneasy. Pressing a simple button on the violin case on his back would release his weapon, but it wasn't necessary at the moment so he held back. Still, his hand was close to his weapon at all times.

"The grass is flat," he said, indicating the area around the cave with a sweep of his hand. "Trampled. Someone's been walking here. A lot of someones. But there are no fresh tire tracks on the road."

"I am well aware; my eyes are fully functional, Finnegan."

Finn didn't want to admit how nice it sounded when Fae said his real name. It was still awkward for him to mentally refer to Fae as 'Fionn,' but he would adjust eventually. He'd just have to say it aloud a little more often. Finn also found himself staring at Fionn as he searched the area with his faerie grace, the instincts of the Wild Hunt burned into his body. He tilted his head just slightly, like a wolf scenting the air. His feet were bare - they always were, but Finn had admittedly ignored such information. When Finn had seen Fionn on some missions involving the city, he had changed his garb to be more conservative, but Finn knew that Fionn was uncomfortable with his feet being covered. He'd gone his entire life without shoes, he had stated, and being connected to the ground and therefore the nature around him was comforting. He had no problem walking on the rough ground, despite the thistles and sharp rocks visible between the grasses.

Finn felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, pulling it out to see that Cristina had texted him, saying that Emma and Mark were in trouble and asking where he was and telling him to meet them when he could. He sighed and put his phone back in his pocket, not bothering to answer the text. The others would hopefully be here soon anyway.

Fionn curtly signalled for Finn to follow him into the cave. Finn had adjusted to Fionn's natural patterns that he usually used with his comrades in the Hunt - he had small gestures that might've needed further explanation for anyone else, and Finn had learned to step and think in harmony with Fionn with enough practice. In a way, Finn had become a faerie himself and could switch between Shadowhunter and faerie when he pleased. He wondered, for a moment, if Mark Blackthorn was the same.

Finn took out his witchlight, a soft and bright light raying out through his fingers. It illuminated the mouth of the cave as he slipped in after Fionn, who was examining some plants that had been scattered about outside the cave as well.

"Atropa belladonna," Fionn said. "It means 'beautiful lady.' It's poisonous."

"Deadly Nightshade. About twenty can kill an adult - depending on their age, size, gender, and health - tastes sickly sweet like other berries and unsuspicious, pretty abundant and easy to find in nature - so no fancy chemicals, human refining methods, or magic - and even small doses cause hallucinations, heart palpitations, and levels of comatose states. But they're native to Southern and Central Europe. It wouldn't grow in such quantities in California of all places."

Fionn stared at him for a long moment before turning back to the plants. "Impressive knowledge."

"Shadowhunters eat, sleep, train, but we also study. In all honesty, Atropa belladonna is the poisonous plant I know the most about since it's so useful. It's just a coincidence, lucky chance."

"It is my opinion that the universe is hardly so careless as to allow coincidence to rule the cosmos, Finnegan." He grabbed the witchlight from Finn's hand and the light changed from a soft white to a fiery red. "If I believed otherwise, I would have to believe you and I were brought together on the whim of an Astral who grew bored one day - that our relationship is naught but a sham." He stood and turned to continue into the cave, which began to narrow into a tunnel. "And I will never allow my heart to live in such a way. Not even the moment I breathe my last breath."

Finn stared again before realizing he would be left behind. The witchlight illuminated the area well for being red, and Finn realized that on top of changing the color, Fionn's effect over the witchlight made it even stronger than normal. Fionn's hair gleamed in the witchlight, he moved like a cloud across the sky, vapor at the mercy of the wind that could tear it to shreds, almost prowling forward on the hunt. Fionn held up his hand for silence as Finn instantly came to a halt at the signal. Fionn slipped forward, pressing himself against the wall as Finn mimicked him without a word or silent command needed. Fionn handed the witchlight back to Finn and Finn sheathed it so they were plunged in near complete blackness. There was still light coming from up ahead, he realized, and it took a short moment for Fionn's trained faerie eyes to adjust and Finn had to use the Nyx rune for night vision.

Fionn slid against the tunnel wall forward with Finn following behind. The tunnel opened out into a circular chamber lined with metal that looked like the inside of an occult ocean liner. The walls were bronze, covered in strange symbols, a scrawled mixture of languages: demonic, some ancient but human - Greek, Latin, a few passages from the Bible…

Two massive glass doors like portholes were set into the walls, shut and bolted with rivets, and a strange metal ornament had been fixed in the wall between them. Through the glass were was only surging darkness, as if they were underwater. There was no furniture in the room, but a circle of symbols, done in chalk, was drawn onto the smooth black stone floor. Fionn tapped his right ring finger to his right temple, a code that meant '_Glamour_.' Low level one, not being sustained, just left there. He drew a circle in the air to signify that it was the circle of symbols that was glamoured, which seemed unsurprising to Finn.

Fionn held his hand out towards the glamoured ring before it began to shimmer. With a silent but strained look on his face, he pushed his magic harder until the glamour popped like a bubble and began to fade away. The moment it did, something shot out from the center of the circle, aimed straight for Fionn, but the faerie's reflexes were quick even when he was worn out from a spell. He grabbed the projectile and twisted to use its momentum and throw it into the tunnel wall. With a grunt and a surprised exclamation as Fionn sat down on the person (Finn realized it was a person by the way) he studied the figure closer and realized it was a faerie - Mark Blackthorn, to be specific.

But Finn had his own issues to deal with as another person charged up, stepping with a familiar fighting pattern and a sword he knew well. He backstepped just out of reach of Cortana, grabbing Emma Carstairs' wrist and twisting it to pull her body against his so that he could throw her over his shoulder. Emma was light and graceful, managing to pull her feet beneath her before she could take the hit and instead pulled on Finn's wrist from their interlocked hands and threw _him_ over _her_ shoulder. He expected the move and turned so that his feet hit the tunnel wall and he pushed against Emma to tackle her to the ground with him on top, restraining her one hand that they still had connected and quickly grabbing her second hand by the wrist to kick the fallen Cortana away since Emma was near ambidextrous thanks to her constant stubborn training. She was strong, no doubt, but Finn was a Shadowhunter same as her and just as well trained - not to mention that he outweighed her, was taller, and naturally had a more muscular build because he was a man. But that didn't mean the girl didn't struggle like there was no tomorrow and strain even Finn.

"Emma stop! It's Finnegan!"

She slowed in her movements as he released her quickly and moved back to prevent retaliation. She pulled out her witchlight and blinded Finn thanks to his Nyx room, but he quickly deactivated it and blinked to readjust his eyes again.

"_Finn?_" she asked. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"What do you _think?_ You and Mark run off in the middle of the night to go do something stupidly dangerous all on your own without asking for help, and if I were your father I'd be scolding you for going off on your own with a boy. You're _so_ lucky I'm not a supporter of the Cold Peace and that I like Mark or I'd be advocating to have his head chopped off right now! If anyone else had seen and/or reported you, even _I_ couldn't save your ass."

"Miach has always retained a sense of recklessness from his Nephilim heritage," Fionn declared, sitting on Mark's back despite the half-fey's struggling. "His discomfort with his blood relatives likely prompted the desire to allow only the Carstairs girl to accompany him. Being within the Institute was a discomfort as well. This excursion was inevitable."

"And you didn't think to warn _me_ at least?" Finn demanded.

He shrugged. "I enjoy the hunt," he admitted.

Finn rolled his eyes. "You would."

"Fionn Flann, release me!" Mark demanded.

"I would do so, yet I enjoy witnessing your struggle."

Mark frowned and braced himself before rolling and shoving Fionn away, the full-blooded faerie standing with a smile that was a little too human for comfort. An irrational part of Finn realized that Fionn usually used that smile only for _him_ and now it was being used regularly for Mark as well. Fionn had learned to be gentle when he'd first met Finn as Hunter; Hunter was a scared and lost boy who wanted nothing but to end his pain because of everything that he'd been through. Fionn had made the effort to want to learn how to talk to Hunter, so he'd practiced a gentle and placating tone that he struggled with, but endured to master. It felt like that sentimental bond between them had been sullied.

"Shall we return to the Shadowhunter Institute, or will we dally longer and tempt fate?"

Fionn looked down the tunnel. "It appears, my Hunter, that tempting fate is no longer an option."

Finn raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Fionn flicked his wrist and his Io emerged. "There appears to be opposition outside."

Emma tensed, slipping into the tunnel and sliding her witchlight into her pocket to douse the illumination. Finn fell into step behind her as she drew out her stele with her left hand - technically her dominant hand in writing alone. She had taught herself to fight with both hands, throw projectiles, balance, and basically everything except write words and draw runes with her right hand. Even then, her right hand was quickly becoming adept, little by little. She scrawled a number of quick runes onto her arms - Sure-Strike, Swift-Footedness, Battle-Rage, Soundless - before handing the stele to Finn. Though he had his own, he accepted the offer and finished off some pre-drawn but slightly unfinished runes.

He turned to hand it to Mark behind him, but the half-blood shook his head adamantly. The message was clear: '_No runes._'

Emma took her stele back and flipped it into her belt. By that point, they'd reached the mouth of the cave. The air was cooler here, and they could see the sky, dotted with stars, and the grass, silvery in the moonlight. The field in front of the cave looked bare and empty. At first, all that could be seen was grass and thistles, pounded flat as if by the tread of boots, reaching all the way to the edge of the bluff. There was a sharp musical sound in the air, like the buzz of insects.

Mark's sharp intake of breath was where it all began; light flared as he spoke. "_Remiel_."

His seraph blade blazed to life.

"Prepare yourselves!" Fionn shouted, rushing forward and shoving the three of them behind him.

He held out his hand and the image in front of them seemed to shimmer. The glamour was ripped away and they were finally able to see clearly what Fionn was already defending for, whistling and chittering among the grass. Demons.

Emma whipped Cortana free so quickly it was as if it had leaped into her hand.

Finn pulled his violin from his back as he called, "Mael!"

Fionn's gauntlet flashed so that the accents began to glow and it shifted to reveal his Io in his hand.

There were dozens of the demons, spread between the cave and the bluff. They looked like enormous insects: praying mantises, to be precise. Triangular heads, elongated bodies, massive grasping arms ridged with blades of chitin, sharp as razors, and eyes pallid, flat, and milky. They were also between them and the motorcycle that Emma and Mark had rode in on.

"Mantid demons," Finn whispered.

"We can't fight all of them." She looked up at Mark, his face illuminated by Remiel. "We have to get to the cycle."

"I will not be slain so easily," Fionn declared. "Finnegan and I shall eliminate all if you are too cowardly to take offensive action."

"What did you just say, faerie?!" Emma hissed.

"He is the greatest warrior of the Wild Hunt, Emma," Mark warned. "He challenged the entire Hunt and came out victorious."

"I don't care if he's King Kong in disguise! No one accuses me of being cowardly!"

"To assume me a great ape is just as great an offense," Fionn accused.

Emma blinked. "Wait, you _got_ that reference?"

"I have a very talkative warlock friend and a werewolf who do not mince words when it comes to human terms."

"They taught me about Netflix and Youtube," Finnegan added. "The internet is a very grand place."

"Assuring the safety of your faerie steed will still be imperative for a retreat even should the demons be fully dispatched," Fionn continued. "Emma Carstairs, go to the steed. We shall cover your retreat."

"I'm _not_ retreating," she insisted. "If you two hotshots are as good as you say, there should be no problem."

"_The steed_, Miss Carstairs," he insisted. "My own will not support you should you fail - he is selective of his riders and he will no doubt disapprove of your impulsive lack of manners. He will _surely_ disapprove if you are to let the faerie steed of Mark Blackthorn perish - he is quite fond of her."

Mark nodded to her. "Go, Emma. Do as he commands."

She grumbled, but readied herself before springing forward. It came down like a cage the moment her boots hit the grass: a wave of cold that seemed to slow time. She saw one of the Mantids turn towards her, lashing out with grasping, spiked forelegs. She bent her knees and sprang, rising into the air as she slashed downward, severing the Mantid's head from its body. Green ichor sprayed forth from the fatal strike, and Emma landed on soaked ground as the demon's body folded up and vanished, sucked back to its home dimension.

Fionn, meanwhile, charged into the fray and swung his Io out in a large arc, slicing the top halves of the Mantids that were too close to him and instantly sending at least a dozen back to where they came from. He never broke stride, summoning his Io back to him and kicking the next Mantid he met with a powerful roundhouse kick with his heel, dazing it before his Io fully returned and then shot forward to shoot through the Mantid's body. He went as wide as he could, rolling out of the way of attacks as he swung his Io for the kill every time - there was no such thing as just injuring his opponent. Mark knew that Fionn _enjoyed_ hordes of demons he didn't have to hold back against. Holding back was something Fionn disliked, even if he did enjoy a challenge of using non-fatal yet still debilitating techniques.

Finnegan played a high note on his violin as he played a low and threatening musical theme for battle, the first note sending out a shockwave that straight up made at least half a dozen of the demons spontaneously combust. The song continued and he gracefully maneuvered across the battlefield, almost floating on the air as he shot over to the nearest Mantid swarm and swung out his violin bow, an arc of energy being released to slice through the demons before he swiftly returned to playing and charging up more energy. Though he stopped playing to attack constantly as he used his violin bow to either stab and slash or cause some kind of magical blast (he once aimed his bow ahead and soared forward as a glowing wake appeared around him so that he charged straight through the Mantids and destroyed them), his tune never ceased - as though the entire battle was to be under his control until it stopped. The speed and intensity of his music increased from a low and threatening beat at the beginning to a fast and dramatic melody as the battle increased in speed.

He was attacked multiple times by the Mantid demons who he allowed to get close, but they found, to their confusion, that there seemed to be a barrier around him that prevented their spiked forelegs from getting through. He allowed a large number to swarm upon him within his barrier, causing Fionn to turn to him in worry (there was little doubt in Mark's mind that Finnegan had been the Shadowhunter Fionn had so frequently and illegally visited and who Kieran had always teased his brother about). But a moment later, there was a high note from the violin that caused the swarm consuming him to suddenly just dissolve, as though vaporized from an intense pressure wave. Later Mark would learn that Finnegan had simply studied their vibrational frequencies and matched it with his violin. With them all in one large mass, it had been easy to eliminate them all at once.

Mark had a quick thought that he was glad that Finnegan was on _their_ side. He raised his seraph blade, lighting up the grass around him, before slashing out at a Mantid, jamming the point of the weapon into a Mantid's throat. He jerked his sword free, struck again, and watched the demon crumble around the blade. He stayed on alert, seeing the next Mantid coming his way and slashing out, severing its foreleg before flipping his blade and slicing up its now exposed body since its foreleg was out of the way. He spun and saw five Mantids were lurching toward the fight from cracks in the granite hill. He tightened his grip on Ramiel and leaped forward with a cry like a hunting horn. He cut at the Mantid's legs and forelegs, crippling them; they fell around him, spraying green-black ichor. It stank like burning gasoline.

Emma, meanwhile, began to run for the bluff where the faerie steed was, currently disguised as a motorcycle. Fionn thought about how much Zoltan hated being anything but a horse as he rushed to Emma's aid. Demons surged up at her as she went, but she was far from helpless. She slashed at where they were weakest, the connective tissue where the chitin was thin, severing heads from thoraxes, legs from bodies. Fionn sent out his Io to slice clean through a large swarm that was attempting to all overwhelm Emma at once, his weapon's invincible string going clean through the chitin with ease. Beyond being showered with demon blood, Emma Carstairs was in relatively good shape. Fionn may have some hatred for the girl's headstrong-to-a-fault attitude, but he had to admit she was a warrior to the core.

Emma skidded around a dying Mantid, nodding towards Fionn in gratitude as he returned the nod and went back to his slaughter of the rest of the Mantids. She was still skeptical about Fionn's loyalties, but one way or another, the faerie was proving himself. Perhaps Emma was a hypocrite for accepting Mark and Helen while not accepting other fey - though there _was_ the difference that the Blackthorns had Shadowhunter blood. She wasn't a Cold Peace supporter, and yet she still didn't trust the Fair Folk - which probably made her just as bad as anyone who had advocated for Mark and Helen's banishment. She supposed it took Mark and Helen to make her take the time to learn about who someone really was beyond their blood.

Emma slid toward the edge of the bluff-

And froze. A Mantid was lifting the cycle in its forelegs. She could swear it was grinning at her, its triangular head splitting open to reveal rows of needle teeth. Emma knew she wouldn't make it in time, but she didn't have to, as a throwing knife shot through the air, shimmering sightly with the glow of seraph properties. It jammed into the Mantid's body, severing thorax from prothorax. Ichor sprayed from the demon's mouth as it tipped backward, spasming, its body falling down the cliffside. Unfortunately, it didn't let go of the faerie steed, the motorcycle going down along with it. Finnegan suddenly appeared with his hand on the knife's handle, standing at the edge of the bluff as his knife came free of the demon and stayed in his hand, leaving the Mantid to fall to its doom. Finn stared down at the Mantid demon with a dark glare, unhappy that it had still managed to win in taking down Mark's steed despite his efforts.

"How did you…?" Emma began.

Finn smile and flipped the seraph knife in his hand. "My family's got a couple tricks up its sleeve. Mael is our family's angel. You have Cortana, we have Mael. I'm a knife-thrower for a reason: I can summon myself to be where my thrown weapons are or I can summon the weapon back to me."

Emma hated using throwing knives to kill an enemy, mostly because you were unlikely to get them back. She only had four in her belt, a seraph blade, and Cortana. It wasn't nearly enough to take on the two dozen Mantids still prowling the grass, but it was what she had. It would have to do. And it wasn't as though she was alone. Fionn and Finn were taking on over half of the Mantid population alone, with Mark facing five at the moment - first disabling them before killing them all at once. But the Mantids were still coming out of the woodworks. How long until their numbers stopped multiplying? Would they be able to escape, or would they have to fight it out if they wanted to make it?

"Keep your head on straight, Carstairs," Finnegan ordered. "No time to be panicking. We've got this. We're still competing for next Herondale, right?"

Without waiting for an answer, he held up a fist towards her to encourage her before running into the fray again, his violin still gowling on his back and playing a loud ballad of destruction while he held out two knives in either hand, one being the knife he recovered from the Mantid. While he _could_ use a regular seraph blade sword, he preferred having two shorter and lighter knives for rapid and agile attacks.

Meanwhile, Mark had climbed the face of the granite hill and was perched on an outcropping, stabbing downwards with his blade. Emma began to run towards him, dodging a lashing foreleg, arcing Cortana up to sever the limb as she ran. She heard the Mantid shriek in pain. One of the taller Mantids was reaching up towards Mark, jagged forelegs grasping. He brought Ramiel down, hard, severing its head - and as it collapsed, a second Mantid appeared, its jaws biting down on the blade. It fell back, shrieking its high insect shriek. It was dying, but it had taken Ramiel with it. They subsided together into a sizzling puddle of ichor and adamas.

Mark had used all the weapon Emma had given him. He pressed his back against the granite as another Mantid reached out. Emma raced forward, flinging herself at the wall, scrambling toward Mark. A massive Mantid loomed up in front of him. He reached for his throat as the Mantid leaned in, jaws gaping. Something shone between his fingers: a silver chain, gleaming arrow head dangling. He whipped it forward toward the head of the Mantid, slashing open its bulging white eyes. Milky fluid burst forth as it reared back, screaming, just as Fionn swung out his Io. The string wrapped around the Mantid's neck as Fionn tugged at it harshly and sent the demon back where it came from. He landed

"Do not die here, Miach," Fionn ordered, handing Mark a hunting knife. "My brother would never forgive me if I allowed your end here."

Mark took the blade, dropping the chain back over his head. Emma leaped to the ridge beside Mark and slashed Cortana forward to cut another Mantid in half that was in her way. She swore and pressed her only seraph blade into Mark's hand. Ichor was running down the blade of Cortana, burning her skin. She gritted her teeth and ignored the pain as Mark raised his new seraph weapon.

"Name it," Emma said, breathing hard, pulling a knife from her belt and clutching it in her right hand - Cartana in her left.

Mark nodded. "Raguel," he said, and the blade exploded with light.

The Mantids screeched, crouching down, wincing away from the glow. Fionn felt a slight bit of jealousy that Mark had chosen Emma's weapon over his, but he knew that logically it was a more ideal weapon against the demons. He and Emma leaped from the rock, whipping their weapons around themselves - Emma with Cortana and her dagger and Fionn with his Io. The air was filled with insectile screeches as their weapons connected with chitin and flesh. The world had slowed. They were falling with all the time in the world, reaching out to sever head from thorax, mesothorax from metathorax, hacking through the jaws of Mantids to leave them drowning in their own blood. A foreleg reached for Emma. She slashed through it with an angled twist of Cortana. When the two of them hit the ground together, a dozen Mantid bodies tumbled after, each landing with a dull thud and vanishing.

Only the foreleg remained, sticking into the ground like a strange cactus plant. The remaining Mantids were circling, hissing and clicking, but not yet attacking. They seemed wary, as if even their tiny bug brains had noted the fact that she was a danger to them. One of them was missing its foreleg. Then, the remaining Mantids were attacked from behind, a large explosion going out from the rear end of their swarm and all of them remembered that Finnegan was a person who existed. He was revealed to have transformed his violin into a guitar, a loud heavy metal song rippling through the demons - both dazing them and harming them.

Mark was still balanced on the rock outcropping - they couldn't blame him; it made an excellent fixed position to fight from. A Mantid lunged toward him, swiping a razored limb across his chest; he brought Raguel down, stabbing into its abdomen. It roared, staggering back. In the bright light of the seraph blade, blood bloomed across Mark's shirt, red-black.

"Mark…" Emma whispered.

"If we wish to preserve his life, we must make haste," Fionn declared.

He spun gracefully, his seraph blade cutting the Mantid apart. It fell into two pieces, vanishing just as the night exploded with light. A car burst from the road and hurtled into the center of the clearing. A familiar red Toyota. The headlights burned through the darkness, sweeping across the field, illuminating the Mantids. Two figures knelt on the car's roof, a light crossbow raised to one's shoulder and a full longbow raised in front of the other.

"Julian! Selina!" Finnegan announced.

"Go!" Selina called.

The car shot forward, and both of them rose to their feet beside each other, lifting their weapons. Julian's crossbow was an intricate weapon, capable of firing multiple bolts fast. Selina was no longer endowed with the full power of Seline, but that didn't make her any less badass with a bow. The longbow was one of the hardest bows to learn how to master, but Selina could shoot up to four arrows at a time (more when she was Seline) and she knew how to reload within milliseconds. They each pivoted towards the demons, firing off bolts and arrows, all while riding the roof of the car like a surfboard, feet firmly planted as the Toyota bumped and hurtled over the rough ground.

People often acted as if Julian couldn't be a warrior because he was gentle in his life, gentle to his friends and family. People were wrong. Each bolt connected, each sank home into the body of a demon. The bolts were runed: as they struck, the Mantids exploded with silent screams. Same with Selina's arrows, she was able to take out a dozen Mantids in ten seconds with Julian taking out the other dozen. The car screeched through the clearing. Cristina could be seen at the wheel, her jaw set. The Mantid demons were scattering, vanishing back into the shadows. Cristina gunned the engine and the car rammed into several of them, mashing them flat.

Fionn rushed forward after the demons, releasing a loud whistle as thunder boomed through the area, lightning struck in a flash, and Zoltan appeared, riding the wind like a living hurricane. Fionn jumped and mounted his steed swiftly, charging after the Mantid demons to slice down as many as they could - Zoltan's speed proving useful in dispatching the quickly. With a light whistle - much quieter and quicker than the one that had summoned Zoltan - two hounds appeared in bursts of black clouds, jumping on two Mantids attempting to slither away in retreat from the crowd, and the hounds easily tore them apart before moving on to pursue the rest.

Mark leaped off the rock, landing in a crouch, and dispatched a twitching, spasming demon, grinding his blade into its anvil-shaped head and smearing it across the grass. The front of his shirt was dark with blood. Finnegan charged in, swinging his guitar like a greatsword and using its weight to smash a Mantid demon's head before flipping it into position and playing a chord that ripped through the area violently and caused the dazed demon in front of him to dissolve with a screech. Emma decapitated a final Mantid demon, turning around to see that they had all fled. As the final demons vanished with a wet, sticky sound, Mark collapsed to his knees, his seraph blade tumbling into the grass beside him.

The car jerked to a halt. Cristina had just flung the driver's door open when one of the Mantids slithered out from under the wheels of the car, bounding towards Mark.

"Mark!" "Miach!"

Julian and Fionn shouted aloud, the former leaping down from the car while the latter irged his horse to charge forward fast as lightning. Finn raised his hand to play a loud note that would dispatch the monster, while Selina raised her bow with an arrow nocked. The Mantid reared up over Mark, who shoved himself up on his knees, reaching for the chain around his neck. To all of their surprise, it was Emma who managed to get the first strike. Energy poured through her, like a jolt of caffeine, Julian's presence making her stronger. She jerked the severed foreleg out of the ground in front of her and flung it. It whipped through the air, spinning like a propellor, and punched the head of the Mantid demon with a thick smack. Fionn's attack came moments later, his horse ramming into the Mantid with his Io slicing clean through. Selina's arrow was next, striking clean through the demon's eye with deadly accuracy. Finn's music blast came last, the shockwave blowing away the cloud of ichor left as the Mantid shrieked in agony only for a millisecond.

Mark sank back into the grass. Julian was bending over him, Emma already running, with Selina and Finn making their way over and Fionn dismounting his steed.

Julian had his stele out. "Mark," he said as Emma reached them. "Mark, _please_-"

"No," Mark said thickly. He batted away his brother's hands. "No runes." He dragged himself to his knees, then his feet, and stood swaying. "No runes, Julian." He glanced towards Emma. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Emma said, sheathing Cortana.

The coldness of battle had faded away, leaving her feeling light-headed. In the moonlight Julian's eyes were a coldly burning blue. He was in gear, his dark hair a mess from the wind, his right hand clasping the stock of his crossbow. He put his other hand up to Emma's face, her gaze dragged up to his. She could see the night sky in his pupils.

"Fine?" he echoed, his voice rough. "You're bleeding."

He lowered his arm, revealing that his fingers were red. Her free hand sprang to her cheek; she felt the ragged cut, the blood, the sting. "I didn't realize…" she said. Then, her words spilled out: "How did you find us? Jules, how did you know where to go?"

Finn and Selina arrived at the same moment, coming to a halt in identical ways - left foot moving forward to be aligned with the right and standing up straight and almost at attention. Sign of a parabatai pair if there ever was one. Selina had her icy blond hair in a loose ponytail, geared up in Shadowhunter black with her archer gloves that covered only her thumb, index, and middle fingers, leaving her ring finger and pinky exposed. She seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, despite Seline being gone - or at least dormant. Finn felt reassured by her presence, once again being reminded of how empty he could feel when Selina was too far away.

"What were you all _thinking?_" Selina demanded. "Coming out here all on your own?"

"We were just going after _them_," Finn protested, pointing at Emma and Mark.

The Toyota backed up with a roar, spun around, and drove back towards them. Cristina leaned out the driver's side window, her medallion gleaming at her throat. "Let's go," she ordered. "It's dangerous here."

"The demons have not gone," Fionn agreed. "They have only retreated. My hounds were able to catch many of the stragglers, but far from all of them." The two hounds in question sat at either side of Fionn's feet, licking their lips and paws clean of demon ichor - which was actually healthy for the supernatural creatures. Fionn mounted his horse. "Let us make haste. The night still lives with perils."

He wasn't wrong. The night around them was alive with moving shadows. Finn jumped aboard Zoltan behind Fionn and wrapped his arms around the faerie's waist without a second thought, not realizing what he was doing until it was too late. "I'll go with him. We won't all fit in the car."

Selina nodded, though the others had a moment of hesitation. "Well? Go on! Shift!"

They clambered hastily into the car: Emma beside Cristina in the front, Julian, Mark, and Selina in the backseat. As the car sped away from the cave with Zoltan riding alongside, Emma reached into her cardigan pocket, feeling for a hard square of leather. The wallet that Mark had found with the identity of the man that she'd found at the Sepulchre was still there. She felt a burst of relief. She was here, in the car, with Julian beside her, and evidence in her hand.

Everything was all right.

* * *

Fionn saw the Toyota with their allies moving to slow and pull over off the highway and into the parking lot of a seafood shack. A massive neon sign reading '_POSEIDON'S TRIDENT_' hung over the ramshackle building.

Finnegan had worried that they'd be spotted riding a horse down the highway with two hounds all running at freeway speeds, but Fionn had assured him that they were glamoured to look like a motorcycle and the hounds could be invisible to any who weren't of the Shadow World. They dismounted Zoltan as the others piled out of the car. Zoltan sped away in a flash of lightning, but the two midnight black hounds - Aurum and Argentum - remained at Fionn's sides. The shack was nearly deserted except for a few tables of long-distance truckers and campers from the sites down the road, huddling over coffee and plates of fried oysters.

Cristina and Selina insisted on going inside to order them some food and drinks; after a moment's argument, they let them. Julian threw his jacket on a table, claiming it, while Finnegan sat down - the only one left free of any ichor thanks to his instrument's barrier - volunteered to watch the table for them.

"There's an outdoor shower around the back," Julian announced. "And some privacy. Come on."

"How do you know that?" Emma asked, joining him as he stalked around the building.

The Blackthorn boy didn't answer, but his anger was clear even to Fionn who wasn't his parabatai. The dirt path that circle the shack opened out into an area ringed by dumpsters. There was a massive steel double sink and - as Julian had promised - a large open shower with surfing equipment stacked next to it. Mark and Fionn crossed the sand to the shower as Mark flipped the spigot.

"Wait," Julian began. "You'll get-"

Water poured down, soaking the two of them instantly, and Fionn hissed, shivering at the freezing cold water, and put his hand up to the pipe to thrust a wave of magic into it, instantly heating the water to warmer levels. He didn't make it so hot that it would burn Mark badly, but he still made it steaming. They lifted their faces up to the stream calmly, as if bathing in tropical rainfall and not a random shower's water on a chilly night.

"-wet," Julian finished in vain.

He raked his fingers through his tangled chocolate-colored hair. It had bits of gold in it and hints of russet and coffee. Emma went to the sink and ran water over the cut on her arm, then splashed it up over her face and neck, rinsing off the ichor. Demon blood was toxic: It could burn your skin, and it was a bad idea to get it into your mouth and eyes. Mark flipped the shower off and stepped away, water streaming off of him and Fionn. His jeans stuck to him, as did his shirt, and his hair was plastered to his neck. His eyes were cold burning blue and colder gold. In then was the wildness of the Hunt: the emptiness and freedom of the skies.

Fionn, meanwhile, set himself ablaze with the rest of his magic for that night, knowing he was running low but uncaring in the desperation to dry himself. He could only tolerate water that was hot enough to boil, and so the initial blast of unheated freezing cold water had given him instant frostbite and the warmed water had only eased the pain, not eliminated it. The cold night was quickly cooling him and making the sting of cooling water return, so he burnt all the water away as fast as he could. His skin was still irritated with light traces of frostbite, but it would have to do for now. He had no magic left, and he didn't want to risk trying out an Iratze on himself.

Julian looked to Emma before whispering something to Mark, who nodded and took Fionn's arm, motioning for him to follow as they vanished around the side of the building. They met up with Finnegan, Cristina, and Selina, who had brought out the food. They were sitting atop a picnic table, surrounded by cardboard boxes of french fries, buttered rolls, fried clams, and fish tacos. Cristina was holding a bottle of lime soda and smiling at something Selina said while Finnegan organized the food meticulously, making sure it was all lined up and presentable.

The sight made Fionn smile - same old Hunter, worried about the presentation of something when he really didn't need to. It was adorable to see him fussing over the food while he avoided talking to the girls. He needed something to do in order to purposefully avoid the conversation; it was most likely a topic he had nothing to contribute to, something only girls would understand.

Mark and Fionn sat down beside them, Mark asking what the girls were talking about while Fionn circled around the table and sat beside Finnegan, leaning close to him in a shameless effort to be intimate. "What food have you chosen with your everlasting wisdom of mundane culture, my Hunter?"

Finnegan chuckled lightly, oblivious to what Fionn was doing to a humorous extent that made Fionn want to laugh. "Well, I know you're slightly picky when it comes to human food, and I assumed Mark would be the same, but we had limited options, so I did my best - what happened to you?!"

Fionn frowned, leaning back and looking down at himself. He had no more ichor on him, he was sure of it. And he'd been wearing these clothes ever since he'd first come to the Blackthorn's Institute - hell, long before that even.

Finnegan snatched his arm. "Is that a _burn?!_ You can't _be_ burnt!"

Fionn looked at his hands and realized that his skin was still red and irritated from his shower. "Ah, yes. The waters of this land are chilled as ice, yet I had little choice but to cleanse myself of demonic ichor."

"Can you heal yourself?"

He shook his head. "My low magic has been expended for the night, I fear."

Finnegan dug around his pockets and pulled out a small card - he had a pack of them for if he ever needed to send a fire message. He grabbed his stele and drew a rune that Fionn was unfamiliar with before the paper was set ablaze. He was sending a fire message? But he hadn't written anything on it…

He took Fionn's hand and rested the burning paper onto his skin. Ah, now Fionn understood - Finnegan was attempting to heal him. It wouldn't be as fast as setting his entire body on fire, but it would still work.

"Might I learn your rune for fire?" Fionn requested.

Finnegan looked up in surprise. "Oh, well I guess that might be useful, yeah."

(**AN: Okay, I admit that the next part was for my own benefit rather than the story. You can skip down to the next AN. It's just a list of every single rune in the series - both books and the TV series. I just made this list for future reference when I need to know what runes exist and which ones don't**)

He set the flaming paper onto Fionn's arm to rest there while he pulled out another card and then a pencil. He drew the Heat rune and showed it to Fionn, who stared at in surprise. With the speed that Finnegan had drawn it with, he hadn't expected it to be so complex. The Agony rune was one simply squiggle; the Iratze was nearly the same shape just a little more elongated and with an extra line drawn through it. This Heat rune was made of numerous strokes that seemed almost random, like someone had just shook the drawing utensil and the erratic lines had somehow become the official rune because no one thought to correct it.

"And this is the Fire Message rune - Ignis Nuntius. Oh, and this is a Fire-_Proof_ rune - as well as a Water-Proof rune."

Finnegan saw the confused look on Fionn's face and laughed. "How about we try this one instead?"

He drew two hook shapes, the straight parts pointing to the left and the right while the left hook was on top of the right and the two didn't meet.

"This is the Nourishment rune. If you're wanting to keep a Shadowhunter prisoner alive, this would be an option, but it won't be able to fully sustain them - it's no infinite substitute for food, just enough to keep them alive."

He drew a thicker rune that appeared to be the combination of a C and an A, the base of the C wrapping around to be the middle line of the A - or perhaps it could be described as a C with an inverted V going through it.

"This one is Mnemosyne - named after the goddess of memory - mostly just referred to as the Recall rune since Mnemosyne is a hard name to remember." He turned and pulled up his shirt to show the rune right between his shoulder blades. "I have a permanent Recall rune to remember the songs I learn and all the instruments I play them on. Selina put it on and renewed it after she became my parabatai so it would be at its strongest. Good for interrogations, perhaps."

He dropped his shirt to Fionn's irrational disappointment and turned back to his card of runes. He drew an elongated C with a swirl at the top and then two branches in the center.

"Speak in Tongues, a translation spell. Always useful if the person you're talking to doesn't speak your language."

He drew a rune that looked similar to the Greek letter delta - the lowercase one - but backwards. It was similar to a very swirly and elongated lowercase b with two parallel lines crossing at the top of the b.

"Soundless, if you need the person to be quiet to avoid detection or you just get tired of them making noise."

"What of the rune on the back of your hand?"

Finnegan looked to the rune that resembled an eye. "Oh, this is the Clairvoyance rune. It's the first rune Shadowhunters are often given, on the back of their dominant hands. It helps us seen through to the Shadow World, helps us see through glamours. Of course a lot of Shadowhunters become ambidextrous over time, so don't rely too heavily on the knowledge that the Clairvoyance rune is on the dominant hand. Like me. I started out left-handed because of my mom since she was left-handed and I wanted to emulate her. But we live in a right-handed world, so I ended up becoming competent with both hands - sometimes I even favor my right nowadays, but I try to make sure my left gets love. Emma Carstairs is left-handed, but she's practices throwing knives with both her left and right together to pinpoint accuracy. There's a Dexteritas rune to give Shadowhunters dexterity, but it's best not to be reliant upon runes."

He pulled down the collar of his shirt. "This is the parabatai rune, in case you hadn't known." He pointed to a rune on his shoulder. "This is the Strength rune, and here's the Power rune - two very different things, so keep them separate. Oh, and also don't get the Pugna rune confused there too. Also Fortis. This is a Block/Deflect rune. Uh…let's see…" He ran his hands over the shimmering afterimages of some runes that were no longer active. "When drawn on the skin, fresh runes normally appear black. Some runes on objects are drawn in different colors, such as red, silver, and gold, among others. Many runes are temporary and fade with time. These runes will almost always leave behind a faint white or silver scar as if as a reminder of the rune that was once placed there. These runes would need to be drawn again for their effects to be felt again. Other runes, like the Voyance rune, the Mnemosyne rune, runes for weddings, parabatai rituals, and some for mourning, are permanent. These runes never fade and their effects constantly work on the Shadowhunter on whom they were placed. In the case of Wedding runes, though they are permanent, they can be broken in half in a very painful process. As with parabatai runes, which fade when the bond is broken or cut (something much harder to do than the ending of a marriage), such as when one is made a Silent Brother or Iron Sister, these wedding runes may also dissolve and fade when the partnership is annulled." He pointed to his faded runes. "This one's for Precision, this one is Accuracy, Farsighted, Fortune, Vigilance-"

"Endurance, Flexibility, Stamina," Fionn remembered from their former encounters.

Finnegan clearly remembered too, as he quickly cleared his throat. "Good job, yes. Um…here's Stealth, Courage in Combat, Spellbreaker, Insight/Foresight, Night Vision/ Nyx to see in the dark, Shelter, Poetry/Prophet, Agility, Persevere Equilibrium, Unseen - a glamour rune. Mendelin can grant partial and temporary invisibility through a glamour as well, but it can be used as a healing rune too to strengthen the victim's constitution." He drew another complex rune on the card. "True North, allows someone to track a person's whereabouts and, in some cases, see what the person is seeing, if one has a possession of the person being tracked. It is drawn on the back of the hand of the tracker, while gripping the object in the other hand. They are easy to learn to draw but difficult to use correctly. If used successfully, the Shadowhunter will see visions of the subject's location and may be accompanied by a knowing sense of orientation. This is often used by the Clave to track down criminals and even demons. And there's the Psychic Connection/Projected Speech one between two people. Here's the Elemental Shield base which you can attach Air, Dust, Earth, Fire, Heart Mind, Time, Water and Wind. There's Anti-Venom and Anti-Virus, Loyal To, Sure-Footed and Sure-Strike, Mental Excellence. And here's a rune for breathing underwater that Clary invented - well, technically it's called Breathing Under Duress: Air, Smoke, Water. She also invented one for long-distance running, one to take apart anything and everything - though that one can be a bit violent and unstable, so only use when you're in a place where you want everything coming down - and one for Heavenly Fire to be utilized, but it's not like the rest of us can use it. Then there's also her famous The One You Love Most rune that she used to demonstrate her power to a room full of people - I had seen my mother at the time, no offense to Merida and Selina - and the special one that scares away demons. There's some fun ones like a Caffeine one, Talent, Wakefulness, Flash for a blinding effect, Thermis to keep a wearer warm, Drying, Audio, Grace, one for Self-Confidence, Self-Love, Comfort, Summon Weapon, and a Dance one - Choreo - and a Commune with Nature one for Flora and Fauna. And I hear there's also a Birth Control one which…exists. Amissio slows blood loss and speeds natural blood replacement while Sangliers is a blood-replacement rune used to transfer blood when the body needs it, but it can be extremely dangerous. This one is Holy - be careful with that one - and here's a Somno one to knock someone out. Lock and Unlock, always a good pair to know; there's also one only known as "To hold against pursuit," a curved rune that looks like a sickle, with three parallel lines and a rayed star. It can be drawn on doors to block it against pursuers, and its efficacy is largely dependent on the strength and accuracy of the Mark and the inscribing ability of the person who drew it. Trust would probably be an important one. Persuade might be useful to you too."

"What of this one?"

Fionn drew a square rune with what might be described as a fancy H in the center.

"That's the Protected rune," Finnegan said. "Where'd you learn that one?" Fionn pointed to Mark. "Ah, I see. But I thought you only knew two runes."

"I knew not of the title of this Protected rune before your information assisted me. There was no visible effect of this rune upon Miach - Mark."

"Oh! I nearly forgot the most important one!" He drew a fancy P and then a fancy M beside it. "The Alliance Rune. The one rune you could probably wear."

Fionn stared at the rune, running his fingers over his forearm. "What feeling might I receive? What feeling comes upon searing such markings upon your skin?"

"Hm? I guess there's a small tingling feeling maybe? Icy hot is how I've heard it described before. The strength and efficiency of runes are based on and related to the inscribing Shadowhunter's talent for runic magic, specifically the strength and accuracy of the drawn Mark. Poorly drawn Marks would have no effect. Likewise, using the stele to draw random, non-runic symbols or writing will only produce an 'icy hot' feeling similar to the one brought about by using it to draw Marks, but there will be no effect. The placement of runes adds to their effectiveness too. The closer a rune is placed to the heart, the more effective it is. Some runes are placed on hands and arms and legs because they target that particular area. The force that the rune is drawn with is also a factor in how long it lasts; the harder someone presses when drawing the rune makes it last longer. In addition, Marks made by ones' parabatai upon another are stronger than other Marks, and there are Marks that only parabatai can use, because they draw on the partners' doubled strength.

"Despite the innate capability of most Shadowhunters to bear runes, some Shadowhunters, though only a few, are resistant to Marks. For others, it may just be a bit more painful compared to the experience of others. However, some may reject the first Mark they receive entirely, which would send them into shock or madness, giving them excruciating pain and agony that would be suffered through a fever so intense that only stripping the Mark or cutting through it would save the life - and, no longer able to bear more Marks after as a part of the conventional treatment, would also end one's life as a Shadowhunter, as these Nephilim are made to live out the rest of their lives as fever may last for an indeterminable amount of time - weeks, months, possibly longer. While one could die during this time, if the Shadowhunter survives and lives through the ordeal with the Mark intact, which can be made to happen through sheer will, he/she can live and bear runes normally with no risk of future danger. When one violates the Law severely enough to warrant an expulsion from Shadowhunter society, or when one chooses to leave of his/her own accord, the Shadowhunter is stripped of their Marks, a process that is excruciatingly painful.

"Though most runes have immense power, there _are_ runes used by the Nephilim that are purely symbolic. The Love rune, for example, is merely a symbol of two people's love and cannot create the actual feeling." He drew the Love rune on the card. "The same can be said for the Mourning rune; it cannot diminish the loss that its wearers feel and only honors the dead and symbolizes the pain of their loved ones' deaths."

(**Okay, tis safe to venture forward**)

Fionn stared at the Love rune before taking out his own stele discreetly, looking over to where Mark and Cristina were still deep in conversation, before he then took Finnegan's wrist and drew a small Love rune onto it. It shimmered different shades of red like lava.

"I hope I did not…act out of line," Fionn said quietly, sheathing his stele.

Finnegan smiled. "I will wear it with pride. Thank you, Fionn."

Emma and Julian finally returned, both looking glum. For a pair of parabatai, their relationship sure was awkward. Mark was recounting the fight at the convergence point and what led up to it while Cristina and Selina listened intently, eating and drinking their meals without paying much mind to Finnegan and his long ramble about runes. The wind off the ocean had dried Mark's hair after his shower. It blew around his face, highlighting how much he looked like a faerie and how little he seemed like Nephilim.

Emma clambered onto the table and reached for a fry, Julian climbing up after her and snagging a soda. Fionn took Finnegan's pencil and began attempting name and draw the runes that Finnegan had taught him, amazed at the myriad of different runes and the idea that there were many more still in the works. Emma launched into her own version of events from back at the convergence, from their discovery of the cave and the wallet to the appearance of the Mantid demons. Fionn added his side of the story, how he left Mark on the roof after attempting to ease his worries about his current position, and Emma must have found him soon after, as he sensed the moment that Mark and Emma had taken off upon Mark's faerie steed - as it was his job to monitor Mark's whereabouts and keep him safe. Knowing he was no doubt heading for the convergence, he took Finnegan with him upon Zoltan and they hastily chased after them.

"They crushed Mark's motorcycle so we couldn't get away," Emma added.

Mark looked glum.

"Zoltan can carry up to three passengers, and I highly doubt he would be accepting of the Carstairs girl," Fionn said bluntly. "Fortunately, retreat was not imperative. _Unfortunately_, Mark's steed could not be salvaged."

"I'm sorry," Finnegan said, his head down. "I only spotted what was happening when it was too late. I tried to warp over there with Mael's power, but…"

"You did all you could, Finn," Emma assured him before turning to Mark. "But thy steed is no more, methinks. Will they get you another one?"

"Unlikely," Mark said. "The Fair Folk are not generous."

"Steeds are those you bond with for life," Fionn agreed. "It is your duty to take care of your steed as it is your steed's duty to serve you in return. If he desires another, he must tame one himself or otherwise find a benevolent soul willing to trust a rider who carelessly allowed their former steed to perish."

Julian looked at Emma with his eyebrows raised. "'Methinks?'" he echoed.

"I can't help it," she shrugged. "It's catching."

"Faerie speech is fun," Finnegan agreed.

Cristina held out a hand. "Let's see what you found," she said. "Since you sacrificed so much to get it."

Emma pulled the square leather object from her pockets and let them all pass it around. Next she retrieved her phone and held it out while she flipped through the photos of the inside of the cave with the odd languages scrawled on the walls. Fionn took another of the cards that Finnegan had laid out for him to practice his runes on and instead transcribed Emma's pictures of the languages, staring at them pensively.

"We can translate the Greek and Latin," Emma announced, "but we'll need to hit the library for the other languages."

Selina took the first card that Fionn had transcribed, studying it carefully. "Spells, no doubt," she concluded. "But what about the owner of the wallet? Anyone recognize him?"

"Stanley Wells," Julian read, looking through the half-burned wallet. "Name sounds familiar."

"When we get back, Ty and Livvy can find out who he is," Emma said. "And we can figure out his address, see if there's anything to find at his house. See if there's a reason he might have been targeted for sacrifice."

"They could be randomly chosen," Julian said.

"They are not," Mark said firmly.

They all paused, Julian with a bottle halfway to his mouth.

"What?" Emma asked.

"Not everyone makes a fit subject to be sacrificed for a summoning spell," Mark continued. "It cannot be completely random."

"They teach you much about dark magic in the Wild Hunt?" Julian asked.

"The Wild Hunt _is_ dark magic," Fionn countered. "The circle in the cave," he tapped Emma's phone, "this is a sacrificial circle. This is necromancy, no doubt. The power of death harnessed to some purpose. Death is a dangerous and powerful force. To harness it requires chosen sacrifices, very specific ones. Not all lives are created equal, even if all life _ends_ equally."

They were all quiet for a moment. The cold wind off the ocean ruffled their hair. Fionn wondered if he'd said something wrong.

"The Mantids were guards," Emma said finally. "Whoever the necromancer is doesn't want anyone finding the secret ceremonial chamber."

"Because he needs it," Julian agreed.

"It could be a _she_," Selina argued. "It isn't just _men_ who get to be psycho magic serial killers."

"Granted," Julian said. "Either way, there's nowhere else near the city with a ley line convergence like this. Necromancy that was done at a ley line extension would probably show up on Magnus's map - but what if it was done at a _convergence?_"

"Then it might well be hidden from the Nephilim," Mark said. "The killer could be doing the ceremonial killings at the convergence point-"

"And then dumping the bodies at the ley line extensions?" Cristina finished. "But _why?_ Why not leave them in the cave?"

"Perhaps they _wanted_ the bodies to be found," Fionn suggested, lacing his fingers in a very human way. "After all, the marks on them are writing. It could be a message they want to communicate."

"Then they should have written the message in a language we know," Emma muttered.

"This killer is wanting his work to be known, but he doesn't want you to figure out the message too quickly. Or…"

His eyes lit up with realization.

"What, Fionn?" Finnegan pressed.

"Or perhaps the message is not for us," Fionn finished.

"The convergence will have to be watched," Cristina announced. "Someone will have to monitor it. There is no other convergence point; the murderer will _have_ to come back at some point."

"Agreed," Julian said. "We'll need to set up something at the convergence. Something that'll warn us."

"Perhaps Aurum and Argentum," Fionn suggested. "They have the power to alert me and flee should anything attempt to attack or disable them."

"We're trusting the _demon dogs?_" Emma said skeptically.

"They are not _demons_," Fionn declared. "They are simply supernatural beings. They are hounds, but they are living creatures with feelings who understand all languages, Emma Carstairs, including yours."

Aurum and Argentum snarled in perfect synchronism at her before then sniffling and each suddenly transforming into more docile creatures. The two mirrored each other as they both scratched the backs of their ears with their hind legs. Fionn reached down to pet them both with a small smile like the proud dog owner that he was.

"What if the necromancer already knows that we're onto him thanks to the Mantid demons having decreased in number?" Finnegan said, drawing the attention away from Fionn and his hounds that Emma and Julian and even Cristina looked on the verge of attacking in retaliation for the threat. "We'll need to be discreet, but we may have already given away our intentions by surviving that Mantid attack. When your enemy knows that you're out for them, they'll most likely start upping their game."

Emma sighed. "Look, tomorrow, during the day, the Mantid demons ought to be inactive-"

Julian laughed. "You know what we have tomorrow? Testing."

Twice a year Diana was required to test them on certain basics, from rune drawing to training to languages, and report back to the Clave on their progress. There was an expected chorus of protest and Finn whispered to Fionn and explained the situation.

"Such testing you dread as though the very skies may fall," Fionn said. "I assumed much worse than Clave testing based upon your dreadful moans - though I have no experience with such and may not hold an accurate comprehension of the magnitude of the situation."

"I'll text Diana about it," Julian said, holding his hands up defensively. "But if we don't do it, the Clave will get suspicious.

Mark said something unprintable about what the Clave could do with its suspicions and Fionn smiled.

"I don't think I know that word," Cristina said, looking amused.

"I'm not sure I do either," Emma said. "And I know a lot of bad words."

"The vocabulary of the fey is quite extensive," Fionn said with a smirk. "He was holding back."

Mark leaned back with the beginning of a smile, then sucked in his breath. He pulled his bloody shirt collar away from his neck and glanced down gingerly at his injured chest.

Julian set down his bottle. "Let me see."

Mark let go of his collar. "There is nothing you can do. It will heal."

"It's a demon injury," Julian insisted. "Let me see it."

Mark looked at him, startled. The waves made a soft soughing sound around them. There was no one left outside the restaurant except them; the other tables had emptied. Mark hadn't heard that voice of Julian's before, the one that brooked no argument, the one that sounded like a grown man's. The kind of man you listened to. Fionn hated voices like that, they gave him the insatiable urge to resist just to make sure that it was known he obeyed no one he didn't respect.

Mark lifted the front of his shirt. The cut ran jaggedly across his chest. It was no longer bleeding, but the sight of the ragged pale flesh made them look very displeased - no doubt gritting their teeth in anger and most of all, worry.

"Let me-"

Mark sprang off the table, away from his brother. "I am _fine_," he said. "I do not need your healing magic. I do not need your runes of safety." He touched his shoulder, where a black Mark bloomed like a butterfly: a permanent Protection rune. "I have had this since I was ten. I had this when they took me, and this when they broke me and made me one of them. Never has it helped me. The runes of the Angel are lies cast into the teeth of Heaven."

"What use is a Mark of Protection if it does naught to protect?" Fionn asked. "I believe Nephilim are powerful, but I believe you exaggerate your abilities at times. As such, those who put their faith in your protection are left to disappointment."

Hurt bloomed and faded in Julian's eyes. "They're not perfect," he said. "Nothing is perfect. But they do help. I just don't want to see you hurt."

"Mark," Cristina said in a soft voice.

But Mark had gone somewhere else, somewhere where none of their voices could reach him. Fionn stood, walking over to Mark with a solemn look on his face. "Miach?"

Mark stood with his eyes blazing, his hands opening and closing into fists. Slowly, his hand came up, caught the hem of his shirt, and pulled it up and over his head. He shrugged the shirt off, dropping it to the sand. His pale skin was revealed, much paler skin than any of theirs, a hard chest and a narrow waist cut with the fine lines of old scars. Then he turned around. His back was covered in runes, from nape to waist, but not like a normal Shadowhunter's, where the black Marks faded eventually to a thin white line against the skin. These were raised and thick and livid.

Julian had gone white around the mouth. "What…?"

"When I first came to Faerie, they mocked me for my Nephilim blood," Mark said. "The Folk of the Unseelie Court took my stele and broke it, they said it was nothing but a dirty stick. And when I fought back for it, they used knives to cut the Angel's runes into my skin. After that, I stopped fighting with them about Shadowhunters. And I swore no other rune would touch my skin."

He bent down and picked up his bloody, wet shirt, and stood facing them, his rage gone, vulnerable again.

"Maybe they could still be healed," Emma said. "The Silent Brothers-"

"I don't need them healed," Mark declared. "They serve as a reminder."

Julian slid off the table. "A reminder of what?"

"Not to trust," Mark said.

Cristina looked at Emma across the boys' heads. There was a terrible sadness on her face.

"I am sorry your Protection rune failed you," Julian said, and his voice was low and careful as he faced his brother in the ocean-washed moonlight, his heart in his eyes. His hair was a tangle, his soft curls like question marks against his forehead. "But there are other kinds of protection. Your family protects you. We will always protect you, Mark. We won't let them make you go back."

Mark smiled, the oddest, sad smile. "I know," he said. "My gentle little brother. I know."

"You have family that desires you, Mark Blackthorn," Fionn said. "That is far more than I ever had. Do not squander it."

.

* * *

**Chapter title: "_Pompeii_" by Bastille**


	8. Insecure Sadness Locked Behind a Smile

**So yeah I may have missed an update because I was working on another story and also kinda distracted by playing FFVII because it's awesome (but seriously, screw that stupid roller coaster game in Gold Saucer where my version of the game doesn't have any hacks available so I have to get 5000 points through actual _skill_). Also '_The High Warlock of Brooklyn(s Sister)_' has just gone off the rails and I hate the Shadowhunters TV show. I have half-assed the ending of the story because it's so stupid, so if anyone wants to help to transcribe that story, I welcome help. This story is the only hope for my Shadowhunters stories and even so, with how far ahead we are, I still haven't reached where I want to be. I'm working on it. I promise.**

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* * *

"It's done," Diana said, tossing her duffel bag onto the kitchen island with a clanking sound.

Selina brushed herself off, having come in with Diana. She went over to the sink, removing her archer gloves and putting them in her jacket pocket to wash her hands. She was in jeans and a T-shirt, her regular black leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, dirt on her clothes and streaking her face. Her hair was pulled back in a pony while Diana's was in a tightly knotted bun. Diana joined her and rinsed her hands as well, dressed similar to Selina minus the jacket.

Emma looked up. She'd been over by the window with Cristina, testing the bandages on her hands. Julian's healing runes had taken care of most of her injuries, but there were some ichor burns that were still sore. Livvy, Dru, and Tavvy were crowded around the kitchen table, fighting over who got the chocolate milk. Ty had his headphones on and was reading, calm in his own world. Julian was at the stove, making bacon and toast and eggs - with burned bits in them, the way Dru liked.

"You set it up?" Emma asked. "The monitor on the convergence?"

Diana nodded, reaching for a dish towel to dry her hands before passing it to Selina. "Julian texted me about it. Did you think I was about to let you get out of the Clave testing?"

There was a chorus of groans.

"_Thought?_ No," Emma said. "_Hoped?_ Maybe."

"Did I hear '_Clave testing?_'" Finnegan asked, walking in with a second duffle bag that he dropped beside Diana's. "Or were you all just groaning about the weather?"

"Anyway, we did it," Diana reported. "If anyone goes in and out of that cave, we'll get a call on the Institute's phone."

"And if we're not home?" Julian asked.

"Texts." She turned around so that her back was to the sink. "Texts go to Julian, Emma, Finnegan, Selina, and myself."

"Why not Arthur?" Cristina asked. "Does he not have a cell phone?"

He didn't, as far as Finnegan knew, but Diana didn't answer that. "Now here's the other thing. Mantid demons guard the convergence during the night, but as you know, demons are inactive outside during the day. They can't stand sunlight."

"I wondered," Emma said. "It didn't make sense that whoever's doing this would leave the convergence unguarded for half of the day."

"You were right to wonder," Selina said with a smile. "During the day, the door to the cave seals itself. I've seen it before, timed entrances are often used in things like that. There are ancient dungeons across the world that work the same way."

"We watched the entrance disappear when the sun rose," Finnegan continued. "It didn't interfere with setting up the monitoring runes and wards - we did that outside the cave - but no one's going into the convergence while the sun's up."

"All the murders, the body dumping, all of them _have_ happened at night," Livvy said. "Maybe there's a demon behind this after all?"

"Using dark magic like that requires the nighttime anyway," Selina said. "Not just demons are limited to such things."

Diana sighed. "We just don't know. By the Angeal, I need coffee."

Cristina hurried to get her a mug, while Diana brushed at the dirt on her clothes, frowning.

"Did Malcolm help set it up?" Julian asked.

Diana took the coffee gratefully from Cristina and smiled. "All you need to know is that it's taken care of. Now, you've got testing today, so I'll see you in the classroom after breakfast."

She left, taking her bag and her coffee with her. Finn grabbed his own bag, heading out and saying that he'd be back in a moment once he'd cleaned up. Selina, unashamed of her dirtied appearance and maybe even pleased by it, sat down at the table and stole away the chocolate milk from the kids, pouring herself a glass before setting it down as the Great Chocolate Milk War continued.

"I can't believe we have class," Dru said, looking glum.

She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that had a picture of a screaming face and the words '_DR. TERROR'S HOUSE OF HORRORS_' across the front.

"We're in the middle of an investigation," Livvy complained. "We shouldn't have to take tests."

"It's an affront," Ty said. "I am affronted."

He had pushed his headphones down, but his hand was under the table. Selina could hear him clicking a retractable pen - it was something he had done often before Julian had built him better focus tools, but it was still something he did when anxious.

"Ah, Clave testing was always so much _fun_ back at the Frisco Institute," Selina said. "The equivalent of Clave testing was done as _warm ups_ for us, so our tutor just filled out the sheet and we went about our day as normal."

Against a background of grumbling from everyone, Emma's phone trilled. She glanced down at it with a pensive face as she read the name on the screen. Julian looked over for a moment, then went briskly back to stirring the eggs. He was in a combination of gear, apron, and torn T-shirt that at another time would have had Emma teasing him. Now she just edged toward the window and picked up the cell. Livvy looked over and rolled her eyes when she heard Emma say that it was Cameron. She got up and started ferrying plates back and forth between the stove and the table. The rest of the kids were still arguing, though Tavvy had wound up with the chocolate milk.

Selina pulled out her own phone, looking for any calls from Lock about updates on the situation. She sighed when she found no messages and no missed calls.

"Milk thief," Dru said to Tavvy, putting a piece of toast on his head.

Selina almost smiled at the sight before her phone beeped and she instantly saw the word 'Warlock' pop up on screen. She hit the button and put the phone up to her ear, standing and moving away from the others.

"Hello? Lock? I-I mean Veon?"

There was silence. She pulled the phone away from her ear to check that she'd answered the call and hadn't accidentally hit the 'Ignore' button instead of the 'Answer' one (she'd done it multiple times ever since she'd upgraded to a touch-screen phone from a flip phone - she'd tap the 'Answer' button so quickly that it wouldn't register and she'd put the phone to her face only to hit the 'Ignore' button instead with her cheek).

No, that didn't happen this time. The call had connected.

"Lock?" she asked.

There was shuffling in the background before his voice finally came through. "_Thank you! Hello? Is anyone there?_"

"Lock, it's Selina. Did you…call for a reason?"

He sighed. "_Well, no. It appears my friends' dog has found it necessary to steal my phone and - hey! No! I'm sorry! You're the one who made the phone call, not me!_" There was the sound of barking dogs in the background and Lock sighed. "_Hey, does Fae - I mean _Fionn -_ happen to be nearby?_"

"Uh, yeah. I think. Last I saw he was with Finn."

"_Yeah, well his puppies are harassing me right now. Could you ask them why he sent them over? And if he _didn't_ send them over, could you ask him to come and get them? They're bugging me for some reason and I can't get them to go away!_"

"Uh…sure."

She went off down the halls to look for Finn and Fionn. Her first stop was Finn's room, then Fionn's but the two were absent from both. Finally, she found them in the music room, sitting in front of the piano playing a song together - clearly they had practiced a lot. They were leaning close to each other seemingly unconsciously, and as they finished out the song, the two stayed in the moment of the final chords a little longer before relaxing at the same time.

"Might we learn a new tune to broaden my skill set?" Fionn requested.

"Sure. Maybe we can go to another instrument too."

"Perhaps you could choose a melody to play alone."

"You wanna watch?"

Fionn shrugged evasively. "Yes, perhaps I do."

Finnegan smiled and stood. "Sure. There's a new song that just came out that I've got stuck in my head. Let me get my guitar." He stood and walked across the room but noticed Selina standing and staring through the door. "Seels? What's up? Something wrong?"

She jumped, realizing she had been staring, and tried to remember why'd she'd come. "Oh, right, yes. Lock called to say that your dogs are bothering him, Fionn."

The faerie smiled and let out a quick, sharp whistle, the two hounds appearing at either side of him. "They detect lying within him. It appears you have unresolved issues together."

"What issues?"

"_Oh, thank the _gods!" Lock exclaimed over the phone. "_Thanks Selina! Gotta go, bye!_"

The warlock abruptly hung up and Selina stared at the phone in surprise. "Do you know what that was about?" she asked.

"You should go see him," Finnegan said.

She blinked, looking between the two of them suspiciously, but completely confused to the point that she couldn't even guess what was going. "Um…okay…"

She walked off, telling the others she was heading out to check with Veon and Malcolm on their progress with translating those runes. She was offered the truck, but she decided that she'd rather walk. By the time she made it to his apartment, she was let inside and found him standing in his workshop with all his ingredients, spellbooks, and all of his other crazy stuff. There was a kind of chaotic organization that only Lock understood, something that Selina could appreciate. He was sitting at his main desk, staring pensively at the pictures in front of him.

"Hey, you doing okay?"

He sighed. "Totally. Totally. Necromancy, darkness, death and destruction. I know the stupid ritual is reviving the dead and stuff, but I can't figure out _who_ it is! By the gods, I need a break."

"Something distracting you?"

He nodded. "Yeah, probably. I don't know what's wrong with me. Malcolm and I were working on this together and then…I don't know. I'm exhausted for some reason. He said it could be too much exposure to the dark runes are getting to me. That _can _happen. Just looking at pictures of them can wear away at my mental defenses, and I'm-"

He stopped himself.

"You're what?" Selina asked gently, sensing it was a touchy subject for him.

He sighed. "My aunt. She's always in my head, but she's…she's never been this _loud_ before."

"Your aunt?"

He chuckled humorlessly. "Long story short, my father took the demonic essence of my aunt and impregnated a warlock woman with me. She was married to a human, you know? But when he found out about me, he found out about her. He killed her, you know? Had her burned at the stake for being a witch - a _demon_ \- and had the son he was given thrown away like the trash I am. I'm the damn son of a warlock and a demon and I'm the reincarnation of…well, doesn't matter. The more I think about her the louder she gets. She hasn't…" He held his forehead. "I've kept her under control for _centuries_ now. Why is she…?"

Selina stepped forward. "Lock? Are you…? Look, you need a break, okay? Come on, let's go sit down."

She guided him over to the couch as he held his head, taking deep breaths. "There's something I'm forgetting…something _important!_ Malcolm…"

"Look, just put the investigation on hold for now, all right? I'm sure Malcolm can handle things."

"No! No _don't!_ He can't handle things! He _can't…!_ What can't he do…? Dammit, I can't _think_ straight! What did you do to me…?"

Selina took a deep breath, trying to think of what to do. This certainly wasn't what she'd been expecting. He'd sounded so carefree and…well, not carefree considering he was being harassed by Fionn's dogs, but he'd sounded okay. He'd sounded like Lock.

"Your aunt…your origins…you've carried this around for so long, haven't you?"

"One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four."

He took a few deep breaths, calming himself as best he could. His heart refused to calm down, but he stilled his body on the outside. He was used to this calming technique, it was clear, but something was interfering. Something was trying to release his crazy side on purpose. Selina began to worry that studying those runes when he was more demon than a regular warlock was a seriously bad idea.

"Lock, maybe it was a bad idea for you to work on this project."

"I'm not _fragile!_" he snapped. "I've been accused of being insane, I've _been_ insane, I've been told I'm a demon like there's nothing _human_ about me, but I've learned to control this, I've done so for _centuries!_ What changed? He took it; he took her from me, why would he do that? What am I missing? What am I _missing?!_"

"Who took her? Who's 'her?'"

"Malcolm. I…I was with Malcolm when it began. He…he took her."

"Malcolm…you mean he's done something bad?"

"He took her."

"Who?"

"Malcolm."

"No, I mean he took _who?_"

Lock stared forward blankly. "I…I don't know. He took her."

Her eyes dropped as she tried to translate his meaning. "You mean…he took your _memories_ of her…?"

He nodded. "She just…stopped remembering me."

"He took _her_ memories of _you?_"

"Yes. No. I think so. Maybe. It's all a blur. I _saw_ her though. I…I was at Malcolm's and I found it."

"What?"

"_Her_."

"You found where he was keeping your memories of her and/or her memories of you," Selina guessed.

"I forgot her," he whimpered. "How could I have…? How _could_ he…? _Why?_"

"I need to warn the Blackthorns," she declared, standing and pulling out her phone. "They love and adore Malcolm - but they're also trusting him with this case. We can't let this go on without-"

"No!" He snatched her arm. "We need to get her back first. He can't know I know I know about her or he'll hide her and I'll never find her!"

Selina paused in hitting the call button for Finn, looking at the desperation in Lock's eyes. "Okay. Okay, I won't tell them, but we need a plan if we're gonna get her back. What do you remember about her?"

He sighed and shook his head. "I shouldn't remember _anything_. He tried to wipe my memories again, but instead, I just got dizzy. My thoughts can't remember what's reality and what's fake, my memories aren't right, but I was still fighting to remember her. I did. I know she exists. I know she was taken from me. So he broke my mental barriers and I got sick. My aunt is back, my mind is a jumble of the past and present, my mind isn't even _mine_ anymore. But I know that I need to get her back. I need a goal to keep myself focused."

"Okay, Lock. We'll get her back. First, tell me everything you know about her. Think really hard. I know that you're stronger than anything that this messed up state of mind can throw at you - the evidence is right in front of me. What's her name? What's she look like? What creature is she?"

His eyes stared blankly as he retreated into his mind, digging through his memories. "My little gem. The cursed Kingsdöttær."

"_Kingsdöttær?!_" Selina echoed.

"Oh yes. Not many were allowed to know about her. But I did. She was hated, loathed - not only by her family but also by herself. I saved her. But then he took her from me."

"Lock," Selina pressed his hand between hers and kneeled to be eye level with him on the couch. "I need you to tell me. What was her name?"

He looked up with a small smile as he remembered. "Dearil."

* * *

"Let's get breakfast," Finnegan suggested.

"You feel certain sending your parabatai away to Lock's dwellings was an ideal course of action?" Fionn asked.

"They need to get together _some_ time. Besides, now that Selina is just Selina without Seline, I'm curious to see how they'll react to each other - if they've changed. Where's Mark? Is he up yet?"

"Last I witnessed, Mark took residence within his bedchambers."

Finn turned down the hall to head in that direction. "About what Mark said last night…is it true?"

"Faerieland has done much to Miach. The Unseelie Court is where I have lived for many years, where my brothers have presided over the land for as long as my memory serves. What he spoke of, he did so only on silent nights where his words would fall upon only my brother and I. The Court no doubt crushed his spirit. They are very cruel, faeries. I know what I would have done were I to have met Mark under different circumstances - if I were in the Unseelie Court still. I would have done as my brothers: I would have broken his stele in front of him, carved the runes from his very skin with a blade, and inscribed the angel's Marks upon him in turn with blood. I would imagine him as the embodiment of the Clave which so often wrongs our kind. The Nephilim presume themselves superior to us by their blood, they believe they control this world. They do not, and I would wish to make them face this truth, for the lies of their kind have misguided even their own. Mark is not one of those Nephilim, he did not deserve such treatment, and yet he received it because he was present at the worst of times. I often imagine what I might have done were I capable of aiding the boy in the Court. Yet changing the past is an impossibility yet to be solved. He is alive at present, and he has a chance at the life he desires. Living a faerie has made him strong, but he has gained the strength he requires. Now, in his wise state of mind, with his knowledge of both the chaos of Nephilim and the chaos of the Wild Hunt, I believe that he is ready to return home."

Finnegan slipped his hand into Fionn's. "You'd give him up?"

"It is not my decision. Only the future may tell if he will leave us. But my brother…he will be near inconsolable if that is the case. I will long for the past, riding with the boy by my side. I will even desire the days where protecting Mark as well as my brother frustrates me to no end. I have learned to be wary of Mark's health, and if he is gone…"

"The world will feel like something's gone for a reason you don't understand. There's a hole in your heart that you just can't ignore no matter how hard you try."

"You have lost in the same manner?"

"My mom. It's one thing to expect that someone's gonna go away, and that's painful, yes, but sometimes it's the case that…they're just gone without warning. My mom's gone out on missions all the time, but then she just…didn't come back. I was old enough to remember back then, but I didn't understand. I didn't understand why this had happened, or even how I felt about it. Was I angry and did I want vengeance? Was I sad and just wanted to hide away from the world? No…I was just numb. It hurt so much that I stopped feeling."

Fionn squeezed Finnegan's hand tight. "My own mother was lost abruptly."

Finnegan smiled weakly. "Guess it was meant to be, eh?"

"We are very alike, Finnegan, but we are hardly identical."

They stopped in front of Mark's room before Finn could react. Mark stepped out, wearing a clean blue henley shirt and dark jeans that actually fit, along with a weapons belt around his waist, though there were no weapons in it. Still, it was unmistakably a Shadowhunter belt, runes of angelic power and precision punched into the leather. There were gauntlets on his wrists. The sight made Fionn stare, and Finnegan detected a subtle hint of sadness in his eyes. Mark was a Shadowhunter, and though he had survived in Faerie and the Wild Hunt, this was his home, no matter what benefits the Hunt had given him. Though the Nephilim were still hesitant to accept him because of his blood, faeries accepted him only to inflict pain. He lived between two worlds, both unaccepting of the other half of him. But Fionn realized that Mark was a Shadowhunter to the core, and though he was scarred, he would end up a strong Nephilim no matter what happened.

"Flann," Mark greeted.

That nearly broke the moment for Finn, hearing Fionn referred to as a dessert.

Fionn realized that his hair had darkened in distress without his consent and quickly warmed the colors to return from near black to a bitter, harsh red. He elbowed Finnegan, who looked on the verge of breaking out into laughter.

"You would be punished for such behavior within Faerie," he warned.

"Fae, I lived my first decade and a half in a world where I'd be punished for such behavior," Finnegan said cheerfully. "My dad was nearly as bad as yours, trust me."

"You have never met the Unseelie King."

"I don't have to have met him to know he's an asshole. But so's my pops. Remember how we met?"

"I would quite enjoy witnessing the two of them upon their meeting."

"They could either start another war all on their own or they'd come to an understanding and team up to make the world miserable."

"The latter would be less than ideal, yes. Yet it would still be monumental."

"Monumental indeed. Monumentally terrifying."

Mark's eyes darted between the two of them as his expression softened. "You have found an ideal mate, Fionn Flann."

The two of them turned, remembering that Mark was still present.

"He knows about us?" Finnegan asked.

"We are not so subtle, my Hunter."

Finn elbowed the faerie. "I don't think you're even _trying_ when you call me your Hunter like that."

He shrugged. "I relinquished the struggle long ago, as I did with the trial of keeping our worlds apart. The Blackthorn Nephilim have said nothing, and so I presume their ignorance."

Finn sighed. "What a mess. Even more so considering I need breakfast and we're just standing here. Forward march, faerie-boys. To the kitchen we go!"

Finnegan led the way down the hall and Mark and Fionn exchanged a glance.

"I am half-fey," Mark said.

"Yes, but humans often use shortcuts within their speech patterns," Fionn observed. "We are both part fey to some extent, and thus are we 'faerie-boys.' At least, that is my assumption."

The two of them hurried to keep up with Finnegan.

**_-TTOT-_**

"I apologize for yesterday evening," Mark said to his frozen family - Julian with his spatula in midair as he made breakfast. "I should not have blamed you, my family. The politics of the Clave are complex and often dark, and not your fault. I would like to, with your permission, start over and introduce myself to you."

"But we know who you are," Ty said.

Livvy leaned over and whispered in his ear, her hand brushing his shoulder. Ty looked back at Mark, clearly still puzzled, but also expectant.

Fionn pushed Mark gently with a finger poking the small of Mark's back. Mark took a step forward. "I am Mark Antony Blackthorn. I come from a long line of proud Shadowhunters. I have served with the Wild Hunt for years I cannot count. I have ridden through the air on a white horse made of smoke, and gathered up the bodies of the dead, and brought them to Faerie, where their bones and skin have fed the savage land. I have never felt guilty, but perhaps I should." He let his hands, which had been clasped behind his back, fall to his sides. "I don't know where I belong, but if you let me, I will try to belong here."

Finnegan took Fionn's hand as the faerie gave that solemn look resembling a parent watching their child grow up and having to accept that they were their own person and had to make their own choices. Fionn had been looking after Kieran since Kieran was born, and then Fionn had been looking after Mark as though he was a brother as well. Fionn, in a way, knew what it was like to be a parent, actually, and he knew the very pain that came from losing that which you loved.

There was a moment of silence as the kids at the table stared and Emma sat with her spoon poised, holding her breath. Mark looked toward Julian, the only one who would pull himself together enough to speak.

Julian reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Why don't you sit down, Mark?" he suggested a little hoarsely. "I'll make you some eggs."

Mark was quiet all through breakfast, as Julian, Emma, Finnegan, and Cristina filled in the others on what they'd discovered the previous night. They kept the details of the Mantid attack minimal, trying to avoid giving Tavvy nightmares. Fionn actually managed to satisfy Tavvy's curiosity, telling the tale of the previous night's fight in a very entertaining way.

"The large bug monsters appeared from the grass, yet it seemed as though they were not there a moment before. They were the undisputed champions of hide-and-seek."

"I didn't know he could speak like that," Emma whispered.

"Neither did I," Finn admitted. "I've never seen him around children. But we _do_ have friends that were trying to teach him to speak more humanely. Lock - I mean Veon, the High Warlock of Frisco? He's probably been teaching Fionn how to speak human without being able to lie."

"Emma and Mark were very brave. The Mantids were unable to defeat them. Julian and Cristina arrived to aid them and the battle was won. You are surrounded by many brave warriors. I've no doubt you shall become just as great very soon."

"How soon?"

"How soon indeed. Julian?"

"Uh, how about we ask Diana, kiddo?" Julian said.

Stanley Well's wallet was passed over to Ty, who looked thrilled to be handling a clue. He promised a full investigation of the unfortunate Stanley after the testing. Since Mark had no need to participate in the testing, Julian asked him if he would look after Tavvy in the library.

"I will not feed him to a tree, as is done in the Unseelie Court with unruly children," Mark promised.

"That's a relief," Julian said dryly.

"The trees of the human world are not so disciplinary," Fionn agreed. "In the Court, my brothers trapped me within a tree for three days and three nights."

"You say that like it was a joy ride," Cristina commented.

"It happened quite often, I became well acquainted with the experience."

"You were a trouble-maker as a kid?" Finnegan asked.

"I did all I was capable, yet trouble I could hardly avoid. Every error begot punishment, no matter the severity of the infraction. You are lucky to have such a benevolent elder brother."

Mark bent down toward Tavvy, whose eyes were sparkling. "Come with me, little one. There are books in the library, that I remember, that I loved as a child. I could show them to you."

Tavvy nodded and placed his hand in Mark's with total trust. Something went through Mark's eyes then, a lightning flash of emotion. He went out of the room with Tavvy without another word.

They cleaned up after the meal, Fionn trying to be as useful as possible despite not knowing where everything went. Finnegan just laughed and showed him where to put the dishes. Fionn neatly organized them in the sink, wary of the water that could come through the tap at any moment. They filed to the classroom to find Diana there, holding a heavy stack of testing papers. Finn and Fionn played The Quiet Game while waiting for the others to finish their tests, using hand signals to try and communicate, and if they couldn't figure out what the other was saying, they'd use a pencil and paper. Diana read a book while the two to of them sat beside her desk, making conversation in silence.

When they finished, Diana asked Finn to help grade the papers with her. Emma seemed to have been thoroughly distracted because she scored dismally on languages and memorization of the classes of various demons and Downworlders. She mixed up Azazel and Asmodeus, Purgatic and Chthonian, and nixies and pixies (the third one causing even Fionn to shake his head in disappointment). When Finn showed it to Diana, the woman insisted on finishing up the grading for Emma's paper herself and instead handed Finn Dru's. Finn caught as Diana glared towards Emma as she marked the paper with Emma's name on it with a fat red pen. Everyone else scored high, and the few that Julian missed were ones Emma suspected he had gotten wrong on purpose to make her feel better.

They took a break for lunch before moving down the hall to the training room. Diana had already set up the space. There were targets for knife throwing, swords of various sizes, and, in the middle of the room, a large training dummy. It had a wooden trunk, several arms that could be positioned and repositioned, and a stuffed cloth head like a scarecrow. A circle of black-and-white powder surrounded the dummy - rock salt mixed with ash.

"Attacking from a distance, with care and precision," Diana explained. "Disrupt the ash circle and you fail."

She moved toward the black box on the floor and flipped a switch - a radio. Noise exploded into the room, harsh and discordant. It sounded as if someone had recorded a mob in action, shouting and yelling and smashing windows. Livvy looked horrified; Ty winced and reaching for his headphones, dropping them over his ears. Fionn covered his own pointed ears with a dark glare, wanting to smash the box but restraining, understanding the point that Diana was trying to make.

"Distraction," Diana said loudly. "You have to work past it-"

Before she could finish, there was a knock at the door: It was Mark, looking diffident. "Tavvy is busy with his books," he said to Diana, who had reached to turn the noise down slightly, "and you had asked if I could join this part of the testing. I thought it best to oblige."

"But Mark doesn't need to be tested," Julian objected. "It's not as if his scores can be reported to the Clave."

"Cristina doesn't need her scores reported either," Diana said. "But she's joining in. I want to see how you all do. If you're going to work together, it would be best if you all knew each other's skill levels. That's why I'm having Finnegan participate as well. Selina would be here too, but she's apparently out and has opted out since she's dealing with something involving the case."

"I can fight," Mark said. He didn't add anything about the night before, the fact that he'd held off Mantid demons on his own, without new runes. "The Wild Hunt are warriors."

"Mark is a valued hunter," Fionn agreed. "But the Wild Hunt fights very differently than Shadowhunters."

Diana gestured around the training room, at the runed blades, the adamas swords. "These are the weapons of your people." She turned back to the others. "Each of you must choose one."

Mark's expression flattened at that, but he said nothing. Nor did he move as the rest of them scattered - Emma went for Cortana, Cristina for her butterfly knives, Livvy for her saber, and Dru for a long, thin, misericord. Julian chose a pair of chakhrams, circular razored throwing stars. Finnegan had his seraph violin still on his back, but he also had a myriad of daggers of all shapes and sizes at the ready as well. Ty hung back. Livvy had picked up a dagger for Ty and pressed it into his palm. Finn had seen Ty throw knives before - he was good at it, sometimes excellent, but only when he felt like it. When he didn't, there was no moving him.

"Julian," Diana said, turning the radio volume back up. "You first."

Julian stepped back and threw, the chakhrams spinning from his hands like circles of light. One sheared off the training dummy's right arm, the other its left, before they buried themselves in the wall.

"Your target isn't dead," Diana pointed out. "Just armless."

"Exactly," Julian said. "So I can question him."

"Or her," Fionn added. "It could very well be a female opponent you face."

"Or _it_," Julian continued. "You know, if it's a demon."

"Very strategic," Diana said, trying to hide a smile as she made a note in her book.

"But you have to know when interrogation is an option," Finn said. "Assessing whether the kill is quicker and easier or whether interrogation is recommended in certain situations can come with a deadly cost if you get it wrong - sparing the life of one who can heal such an injury or one who when they live they can warn someone else before taking their own life can end up making a situation _much_ worse."

Diana added the note and then went over to pick the dummy's arms up and fasten them back on. "Livvy?"

Livvy dispatched the dummy with a swing of her saber without passing the ash barrier. Dru acquitted herself decently with a thrown misericord, and Cristina flipped open her balisongs and hurled them so that one point of each blade stuck into the dummy's head exactly where its eyes would have been.

"Gross," Livvy said admiringly. "I like it."

Cristina retrieved her knives and winked at Emma, who had climbed partway up the rope ladder, Cortana in her free hand.

"Emma?" Diana asked, craning her head up. "What are you doing?"

Emma flung herself from the ladder. It wasn't the cold fury of battle, but there was a moment of falling freedom that was pure pleasure. She landed on the dummy, feet planted on its shoulders, and slashed down, driving Cortana's hilt deep into its truck. Then she flipped herself backward, over and down, landing on her feet inches outside the circle of ash.

"That was showing off," Diana said, but she was smiling as she made another note.

"You wanna see showing off?" Finn asked. "Okay then, my turn."

He grabbed his violin and bow as a battle theme began to play, effectively allowing him to concentrate over the distracting noises. There was no rhythm or rhyme to the noises that Diana had chosen, and therefore it was child's play to concentrate on the song that he knew well and channeled his power into. Now, the entire room was under his control. He jumped up and then blasted forward. He kept concentrated on the line of ash around the dummy, making sure it stayed in place as he flew in, stabbing his violin bow into the dummy's chest clean through. He used the impaled weapon to twist himself around, his legs swinging out and then back in and around so that he ended up on the dummy's back, stabbing the sharp point at the base of his violin through the dummy's neck a couple times and then through its head. He pulled his violin bow out the back of the dummy and sheathed both parts of his instrument on his back, the violin still playing his battle theme. He pushed against the small of the back of the dummy with his feet and pulled at the shoulders with his arms before tearing the tall dummy in half so that when it fell it didn't disturb the ring of ash. He jumped up and over the ring, far higher than he needed to, flipping in the air and landing a good ten feet away from the dummy beside Fionn.

"You fight like a fey," he admired. "Destructive and precise, following orders yet not."

"I learned from the best."

He snapped and the dummy's parts floated up to reconstruct itself, time reversing as the straw from the head returned and the wood from the body remade itself like new. The arms were connected once more, before Finn's violin played a victory theme and he bowed.

"You fight as a Shadowhunter as well: graceful, ruthless, and gentle."

"Well, that's to be expected."

Diana sighed, shaking her head. "Emma's little stunt wasn't a _challenge_, Finnegan. But at least you clean up after yourself."

"Always an important skill in life, Diana," Finn agreed with a cheeky smile.

She finished up a note in her book before she glanced up again. "Tiberius? It's your turn."

Ty took a step towards the circle. The white band of his headphones was stark against his black hair. He was as tall as the dummy - he wasn't the child he had once been. He was fifteen years old, older than Emma and Julian had been when they had undergone their parabatai ceremony. His face wasn't that of a little boy's anymore. Sharpness had replaced the softness. Ty lifted his knife.

"Tiberius," a voice said from the doorway. "Take the headphones off."

It was Arthur Blackthorn. They all looked up in surprise. Arthur rarely ventured downstairs, and when he did, he avoided conversation, meals - all contact. It was strange to see him hovering in the doorway like a gray ghost: gray robe, gray stubble, worn gray pants.

"The pollution of mundane technology is everywhere," Arthur said. "In those phones you carry. Cars - at the London Institute we didn't own them. That computer you think I don't know about." An odd anger flashed across his face. "You're not going to be able to go into battle wearing _headphones_."

He said the word as if it were poisonous.

"With all due respect, Arthur," Finn said. "Times change. If even the mundanes become more advanced than the Shadowhunters, soon we will have no more purpose. Why, one day mundanes will be able to fight off demons on their own, even fight against us if they come to one day realize we are a threat."

"You should not become so reliant upon their ways. You will become dependent and helpless the moment your luxuries are taken away."

"Maybe so, but there is a fine, _fine_ line between being prepared for the worst and punishing your subordinates as if they are nothing but machines who are not human enough to have wants and needs."

"This is not your Institute, Finnegan Scion, and I have the authority to remove you if necessary."

"I have the power to do many things, Arthur Blackthorn, including destroying the entire Blackthorn lifestyle with just a word." Julian stepped forward, his fists clenched with a protective and determined gaze. "But I won't," Finn continued. "Because I respect the Blackthorns and I don't want to see them punished for reasons that are entirely beyond their control. Similarly, I will not sit by and allow you to push them beyond how far you already have."

"Finn," Diana said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I don't like this either, but he has a point. Ty needs to be able to do this as the others did."

"He's not _like_ the others. You're practically asking a guy with a broken leg to play soccer."

"Finnegan," Fionn spoke up.

With a glance the faerie's way, Finn saw everything he was trying to convey. Life wasn't fair, he knew that better than anyone, but playing fair wasn't going to force the rest of the world to do so. He didn't like it either - he wanted to believe that this world was safer and fairer and kinder than the world that Mark had left, but when that wasn't the case, there was little to be done but suck it up. There would be times in the future where there wasn't the _choice_ to take the safer route, and they just wanted to be prepared. Finn understood the philosophy, he _did_. He'd been raised under the opinion that pain was some kind of gift that should've taught you something. But that only made him more adamant to take the blessings that he could get.

Diana closed her eyes. "Ty. Take them off."

Ty slid the headphones down so that they hung around the back of his neck. He winced as the chatter of noise and voices from the radio struck his ears. "I won't be able to do it then."

"Then you'll fail," Arthur said. "This has to be fair."

"If you don't let him use them, it won't _be_ fair," Emma protested.

"This is the test. Everyone has to do it," Diana said glumly. "Battles doesn't always happen under optimum conditions. There's noise, blood, distractions-"

"I won't be in battle," Ty said. "I don't want to be that kind of Shadowhunter."

"_Tiberius,_" Arthur said sharply. "Do as you're asked."

"Why don't _you_ just be _quiet?_" Finn hissed, reminded of his own father's teaching methods.

Fionn stared blankly at the floor, a hard look in his eyes. He said nothing.

Ty's face set. He lifted the knife and threw it, with deliberate awkwardness but great force. It slammed into the black plastic radio, which shattered into a hundred pieces.

There was silence.

Ty looked down at his right hand; it was bleeding. A piece of the shattered radio had gone wide and nicked his skin. Scowling, he went to stand by one of the pillars. Livvy watched him with miserable eyes; Julian made as if to start after him, when Emma caught him by the wrist.

"Don't," she advised. "Give him a minute."

"My turn," Mark declared.

Diana turned towards him in surprise. He was already stalking towards the training dummy. He strode directly up to it, his boots scuffing the ash and salt on the ground.

"Mark," Diana said, "you're not supposed to-"

He caught hold of the dummy and yanked it towards himself, ripping the stuffed head from its body. Straw rained down around him. He tossed the head aside, seized hold of the attached arms, and bent them back until they snapped. He took a step back, planted his food in the middle of the thing's trunk, and shoved. It went over with a crash. It would almost have been funny, if not for the look on his face.

"These are the weapons of my people," he said, holding out his hands.

A cut on the right one had opened and was bleeding.

"You weren't supposed to touch the circle," Diana said. "Those are the rules, and I don't make them. The Clave-"

"Lex malla, lex nulla," Mark said coldly, and walked away from the dummy.

Arthur drew in his breath at the words of the Blackthorn family motto. He turned without a word and stalked out of the room. Fionn smiled before reaching down and grabbing a shard of the broken radio and slicing a cut across his right palm. Finnegan understood at did the same. They followed Mark across the room to where Ty was leaning against the pillar. Mark was the one to lean against the pillar beside his brother.

Ty, who had been holding his right hand with his left, his jaw set, looking up in surprise. "Mark?"

Mark touched his younger brother's hand, gently, and Ty did not pull away. They both had the Blackthorn fingers, long and delicate, with sharp, articulated bones. Fionn's hand might've easily been mistaken for a Blackthorn's as well - Mark's features were both Blackthorn and fey, so the three went well together. Finnegan felt a bit out of place, but he held his hand out beside Fionn's to show off their bleeding palms, all four of them together. Slowly, the angry look faded from Ty's face. Instead, he looked sideways up at his brother, as if the answer to a question the rest of them couldn't guess at could be read in Mark's face.

"Now we _all_ have hurt hands," Mark said.

* * *

"I think he wants to go to the Scholomance," Selina said.

"_I think he'd make a _wonderful_ addition,_" Merida said over the phone.

It was one of their few phone calls that they were allowed to make. She was being closely monitored for the sake of preventing the secrets of the Scholomance from being handed out all willy nilly, but Merida was at the top of her class and in charge of a group of Centurions. Selina could just imagine Merida standing there all proud and tall with her Centurion uniform. So now, _she_ was officially in charge around there, and she could make phone calls all she wanted - with supervision by one of her friends, of course.

"Yeah, but he'd have to leave his sister, and she really wants them to become parabatai. You can't have a parabatai in the Scholomance."

"_Sadly,_" Merida sighed. "_But if that's what Tiberius wants, then who's to stop him?_"

"He's only fifteen right now. The other students admitted there are at least eighteen. He's as smart as any Academy graduate, but…it's not entirely just about what he knows."

Selina had often thought the Clave was a black shadow over their lives. They stole people away - like Mark and Helen Blackthorn; they were just as guilty as the Fair Folk in that regard. Down through the centuries, the exact way Shadowhunters could and should behave had been strictly regimented. Tell a mundane about the Shadow World and be disciplined, even exiled. Fall in love with a mundane or your parabatai and have your Marks ripped off - an agonizing process not everyone survived. Julian's art, his father's interest in the classics, Finnegan's music and story-loving nature, from fictional books and mythology and video games and the tunes that went along with them - all had been regarded with deep suspicion. Shadowhunters weren't meant to have outside interests. Shadowhunters weren't artists, they weren't musicians, they weren't writers, they weren't tech savvy gamers. They were warriors, born and bred, like Spartans. And individuality was not something they valued.

Tiberius's thoughts, his beautiful, curious mind, were not like everyone else's. Selina had heard the stories - whispers, really - of other Shadowhunter children who thought or felt differently, who had trouble focusing, who claimed letters rearranged themselves on the page when they tried to read them, who could never gain a true concept of time, who fell prey to dark sadnesses that seemed to have no reason, or fits of energy they couldn't control. Whispers were all there were though, because the Clave hated to admit that Nephilim like that existed. They were disappeared into the "dregs" portion of the Academy, trained to stay out of the way of other Shadowhunters, sent to far corners of the globe like shameful secrets to be hidden. There were no words to describe Shadowhunters whose minds were shaped differently, no real words to describe differences at all. Because if there _were_ words, there would have to be acknowledgment - and there were things the Clave refused to acknowledge.

Selina wouldn't tell anyone, but she herself was having trouble keeping concentrated ever since Seline disappeared from her. It was probably an after-effect of losing a goddess that had little to no concept of time but was able to focus on multiple things at once - Selina's mind, all on its own, was slow and unpracticed compared to the Astral's.

"_I got it,_" Merida said. "_Whatever the kid chooses, I just hope that it makes him happy._"

"If he goes there, people will try to change him, Mer, make him into the perfect model of the Shadowhunter that they want us all to be. Remember what your dad did to Finn when he found out that Finn wasn't the perfect model of a Shadowhunter?"

"_Of _course_ I remember, Seels,_" Merida said, her voice growing deep and concerned. "_He was inconsolable for a long time. First Mom disappears without a trace and then Dad starts harassing him like it's _his_ fault. It's a miracle the kid came out the way he is today._"

Selina snickered. "You speak of Finn like he's your son."

Merida sighed. "_I've become my mother. Well, it _has_ been a while, hasn't it?_"

"A few years, give or take."

"_I feel like I missed all the action back there._"

"Don't worry, there'll be plenty of action for when you visit."

"_I hope so. Don't kill _too_ many demons, all right? Leave some for me._"

"No promises."

"_How cruel!_"

"Love you too Merida!"

She hung up before she could get Merida's response. They often ended their phone calls like that.

She sighed and slipped her phone back into her pocket, turning to the door to the living room again where Lock was surrounded by a forest's worth of paper, using both his magic and some colored pencils, crayons, markers, and paints. He created a large canvas of everything that he could remember and everything that threatened to break free from him. There were dark images of demons, bright images of a person encased in flames, a sword in their hand, and everything in between light and darkness. She recognized Finn's guitar, drawn with enough detail that he'd even gotten the small taped-on bit from their mom's guitar with her signature on it - when Finn's father had broken their mom's guitar, they had salvaged bits and pieces to decorate the new one. She saw herself with the large silhouette of a woman made of moonlight behind her with had to be Seline. She saw Finn's father, surrounded by a dark aura - a symbolic representation of the monster that he was inside. Then again, Selina wouldn't be surprised if he was just a demon. Selina saw images of Phoenix as well, and a woman that appeared to be Merida with violet eyes, lined with cracks like glass and a large symbol behind her. She was wearing a beautiful white dress - it almost appeared ceremonial - but it wasn't Shadowhunter garb. It looked more faerie than Nephilim, but the woman had the distinct markings of runes on her skin and her ears weren't pointed like a fey's.

"Is that…?"

"Ellesmira," Lock nodded, still drawing and facing away from Selina. "The Oracle."

Selina's eyes widened. Seline's memories had a vague recollection of the Oracle, but this certainly wasn't what she expected. The Oracle was the most powerful mortal in existence, one respected by even the gods. She had the ability to commune with the Astrals and to see visions of the future that influence her decisions in life. The Oracle, no matter who they were, would never stray from the foreseen future, but in turn they were given the power to make sure that the future happened no matter what.

"You mean…Finn's _mother_ was the _Oracle?!_ But she's dead now, so-"

"Not dead," Lock corrected. "Merely hiding. She left because she saw something one day that told her she needed to leave, and the Oracle never contradicts her visions. I knew the Oracle before her, you know. I passed on the blessing of the Oracle to her. She freaked out."

He giggled like he was drunk and Selina sighed. Whatever was happening to Lock, she wasn't sure how to handle it. But he needed to draw out his thoughts, he was trying to communicate something through his madness. Whatever Malcolm was doing, she tried to prod it out of him to see if he remembered, see if he had any proof that Malcolm was responsible for the spell that had broken his mental barriers. But he said to tell no one - he screamed at her the moment she tried to exit his apartment. He needed to find her first, this Dearil girl. Beyond that, he needed something to help him concentrate, and that's what the drawing appeared to be doing.

The sound of brushes and pencils and crayons scratching against paper filled the room, along with the whooshing of magic flames. It was basically a research montage, one that had Selina _extreeeeemely_ bored, but then the room was silent. Lock had stopped his artistic work.

"What is it?" Selina asked. "Lock, is something wrong?"

"Fine," he said, his voice more stable than it had been ever since Selina had first come to the apartment. "Selina, what am I doing?"

He looked around at the drawings, mystified as though he had just found them.

"You were drawing," Selina said. "You wouldn't stop."

He shook his head. "I don't…I never drew these. I was going to head over to Malcolm's to help with the case. I just…I just headed out the door and then I'm…here?"

Selina put a hand to her chin pensively. "So Malcolm's attempt at erasing your memory finally worked. Your special origins must have simply created a few caveats that caused your destabilization and the long delay of the spell's effect."

"Special…what are you talking about?"

"You told me some things, Lock. Let me fill you in and we can work out what to do next."

* * *

"What is this?" Mark asked, picking up Tavvy's stuffed lemur, Mr. Limpet, and holding in gingerly by one foot.

Mark was sitting on the floor of the computer room with Emma, Tavvy, Dru, and Fionn. Dru had a book called 'Danse Macabre' in one hand and was ignoring them. Tavvy was trying to get Mark, wet-haired and barefoot, to play with him. Fionn was attempting to be a part of the interactions, apparently very well-versed when it came to handling children thanks to having to raise his little brother. Of course, he wasn't very familiar with handling a _human_ child when he _didn't_ have to worry about preparing the child in question for life in somewhere like the Unseelie Court, and so he was struggling to readjust his style and keep Tavvy's attention.

Cristina hadn't yet returned from changing out of training clothes. Ty and Livvy, meanwhile, were manning the desk - Ty was typing, and Livvy was sitting on the desk beside the keyboard, issuing orders and suggestions. Stanley Wells had turned out to have an unlisted address, and Finn strongly suspected that whatever they were doing to try and track it down was probably illegal.

"Here," Emma said, reaching out to Mark. "Give me Mr. Limpet."

Emma looked anxious and unsettled ever since Diana had wrapped up the testing shortly after Arthur had left, calling Julian to her office. The way he'd thrown his testing gear into a corner of the training room before following her had made it clear it wasn't an interview he was looking forward to.

Cristina came into the room, running her fingers through her long, wet, black hair. Mark, holding out Mr. Limpet to Emma, looked up - and there was a tearing sound. The lemur's leg came away and its body thumped to the ground, scattering stuffing. Mark cursed in an ancient faerie language and Fionn responded in the same language before switching to English - though not completely, as he still retained an accent.

"Slain thy creature of the Limp, you have, Miach."

"You killed Mr. Limpet," Tavvy translated to proper English.

"I think he died of old age, Tavs," Emma said, picking up the stuffed lemur's body. "You've had him since you were born."

"Or gangrene," Dru said, looking up from her book. "It could have been gangrene."

"First off, gross," Finnegan said, leaning down to recover the bits of stuffing from the stuffed animal. "Why do we have to apply some real-life disease to Mr. Limpet? Second, we can probably just get you a new one. There's a girl back at my Institute who still has a stuffed animal at 16 - it's lasted over a decade in her possession."

"That's older than Livvy and Ty," Tavvy noted.

"Yup."

"Oh my," Cristina muttered in thought. "Wait here - I'll be right back."

"Don't-" Mark began, but Cristina had already hurried from the room. "I am a clodpole," he said mournfully. He reached to ruffle Tavvy's hair. "I am sorry, little one."

"We could construct a new object of comfort should he desire one so urgently," Fionn suggested.

"Let's not," Finn said. "No offense, but I think we have very different versions of what a toy is."

"Did you get an address for Wells?" Julian asked, striding into the room.

Livvy held up her arms in triumph. "Yep. It's in the Hollywood Hills."

"No surprise there," Emma said.

Rich people often lived in the Hills. Finn was fond of the area himself, despite the expensiveness of the neighborhood. He liked the twisty roads, the massive sprays of flowers climbing over walls and down the sides of houses, and the views out over the electric, lit-up city. At night, the air that blew through the Hills smelled like white flowers: oleander and honeysuckle and a dry promise of the desert, miles away.

"There are sixteen people named Stanley Wells in the greater Los Angeles area," Ty said, swinging his chair around. "We narrowed the possibilities down."

"Good work," Julian said as Tavvy sprang up and came over to him.

"Mr. Limpet died," Tavvy said, tugging on Julian's jeans.

Julian reached down and lifted him up in his arms. "Sorry kiddo," he said, putting his chin down on Tavvy's curls. "We'll get you something else."

"You are a murderer," Fionn said gloomily, patting Mark on the shoulder.

"I have killed an innocent creature," Mark agreed.

"Don't be dramatic," Emma whispered, kicking their bare ankles.

Mark looked cross. "Faeries are dramatic. It's what we do."

"I loved Mr. Limpet," Tavvy said. "He was a good lemur."

"There are lots of other good animals." Tiberius spoke earnestly; animals were one of his favorite subjects, along with detectives and crime. Tavvy smiled at him, his face full of trust and love. "Foxes are smarter than dogs. You can hear lions roar from forty kilometers away. Penguins-"

"And bears," Cristina interrupted, reappearing breathlessly in the doorway. She handed Tavvy a stuffed gray bear. He looked at it dubiously. "That was mine when I was a little girl," she explained.

"What's its name?" Tavvy inquired.

"Oso."

"Bear," Finnegan translated.

Cristina shrugged. "I was not very creative."

"Oso," Tavvy repeated.

He took the bear and smiled a gap-toothed smile. Julian looked at Cristina as if she'd brought him water in the desert.

"Ah, the innocence of childhood," Fionn mused. "I feel reminiscent of my brother's early days of life."

"You had to act like a parent to him, huh?" Finnegan guessed.

He nodded. "Our mother perished when he was still a boy; our father provided little assistance. I stood between him and the world - I wished to do so forever. But he has grown up and must face the horrors of reality as we all must."

"You'll always be able to be there for him, no matter how old he gets. That's the thing about family - you're stuck with them till death do you part and beyond."

Livvy was chattering away to Julian, swinging her legs cheerfully. "So we should all go," she said. "Ty and I can go in the car with Emma and Mark, and you can go with Cristina, and Finnegan can ride with Fionn on the horse thingy."

"My steed is called Zoltan," Fionn said.

"And Diana can stay here-"

Julian set his little brother down. "Nice try. But this is really a two-person job. Emma and I will be in and out fast, see if there's anything unusual about the house, that's it."

"We never get to do anything fun," Livvy protested.

"I should be allowed to examine the house," Ty insisted. "You'll miss everything important, all the clues."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Julian said dryly. "Look, Livs, Ty-Ty, we really need you here to go over the photos from the convergence cave. See if you can identify the languages, translate them-"

"More translating," Livvy said. "Sounds thrilling."

"It _will_ be fun," Cristina said. She smiled, and Julian shot her a second grateful look. "We can make hot chocolate and work in the library."

"It's not busywork," Julian promised. "It's because you guys can genuinely do things we can't."

He nodded towards the computer. Livvy flushed, and Ty looked pleased.

Mark, however, didn't. "I should go with you. The Courts wished me to be part of the investigation. To accompany you."

"I follow Mark," Fionn declared. "He is my responsibility; I made multiple oaths to ensure his wellbeing."

Julian shook his head. "Not tonight. We need to figure out what to do about not being able to use runes on you."

"I don't need them-"

"You do." There was steel in Julian's voice. "You need glamour runes, if you want to blend in. And you're still injured from last night. Even if you _do_ heal quickly, I saw you reopened your wound in the training room - you were bleeding-"

"My blood is not your concern," Mark declared.

"It is," Julian insisted. "That's what it means to be family."

"_Family_," Mark began bitterly, and then seemed to realize that his younger siblings were there and were looking at him, silent and still.

Cristina, too, was quiet, gazing at Emma across the room, her gaze dark and worried. Finn looked between the two brothers - one older and experienced through his age and the trials he had endured, and the other the eldest Blackthorn that had grown up to become a father figure with the most authority in the family since Mark had left. They were both leaders of the pack, and though they cared for one another, there was only room for one alpha here.

Mark seemed to swallow back whatever he had been about to say. "If I had wanted to take orders, I would have stayed with the Hunt," he said instead in a low voice, and walked out the door.

"What it means to be family, Julian Blackthorn, is to trust your kin to do as they please," Fionn said. "Mark can make his own choices - your blood does not give you the right to shelter him for your own selfish desires."

"It's selfish to want to keep him safe?"

"If his safety makes him abhor you? Absolutely. Dying with your free will is preferable to living in chained misery." He held out his hand to Finnegan. "Your communication device?"

Finn pulled out his phone and handed it to him instantly. "What are you-?"

"Alessa," he said swiftly before turning and slipping after Mark.

Finn's gaze softened as he watched Fionn go. "Helen. He thinks Helen will be able to help him."

"He's probably right," Julian said. "Your faerie's pretty smart."

Finn rubbed the back of his head, trying not to look nervous at hearing Julian call Fionn '_his_' faerie. His hair was getting long, he observed. It was shaggy at this point. "I thought all faeries were observant like that. You have to be, in a world like this."

Julian sighed. "Emma and I are still going and the rest of you are staying. That's final. I'll go tell Diana. Emma, you get your things ready."

**_-TTOT-_**

Mark was sitting near one of the copper gutters, his legs dangling over the side. The wind blew his fair hair around his face, his hands long and white and bare, bracing him against the roof tiles behind him. Fionn took a few moments to figure out how to contact Helen, but luckily he was able to read English and quickly deduced that the green button was to contact her.

"_Yes, this is Helen Blackthorn of Wrangel Island, who's-? Oh, hello._"

Fionn blinked at the image of the fey-looking girl on the screen. She was no doubt related to Mark, with pale, white-gold hair that falls in ringlets and tucked back to show off her pointed ears and blue-green eyes, a trait of the Blackthorn children - almost a mix of the two colors that were now split between Mark's eyes thanks to the Hunt. She was pale, beautiful, and petite, her faerie blood contributing to her loveliness.

"Greetings. I am an acquaintance of your brother, Mark Blackthorn."

"_Your eyes…you're of the Wild Hunt, no? How would you get your hands on a device to contact me?_"

"The circumstances are complex. I will allow Mark to explain for himself - I assume you both desire the chance to speak with one another. You have as much time as you desire, and should one have an argument, they may contact the new Head of the San Franci…sick…oh Institute."

She giggled. "_I think you mean San Francisco._"

"Yes."

She sighed. "_Well, who am I to deny the opportunity? I accept. Please, allow me to speak to Mark._"

Fionn nodded, walking across the roof to where Mark rested. "Miach, fair Alessa desires your attention. Helen wishes to speak with you."

His eyes widened and he took hold of the phone the moment Fionn held it out. Fionn turned away as Mark greeted his sister for the first time in countless years. He felt that Mark should have such time alone, so he went to make sure no one would disturb him.

* * *

**Chapter title: "_Idea of Her_" by Whitney Woerz**


	9. Sticks and Stones Break Your Bones

**So uh I'm updating after midnight so technically I'm updating late but it's all because of the chapter name. Seriously, I had the doc ready to post and everything and then I didn't because I hadn't come up with the name and was like "Eh, it'll come to me later" and it just didn't.**

**:|**

**Naming chapters is hard.**

**Enjoy!**

**:)**

* * *

_Dearil would never be accepted. She knew that very well and had long since accepted the fact that she could change nothing. Among the princes of the Unseelie Court, she knew no rest._

_ She was tripped as she carried her books to her class where her strict elder sister awaited._

_ "You should watch where you step," she was told by one of her brothers_

_ "She dropped her books on me," another complained._

_ "She nearly fell on me," a third jumped in._

_ "She needs to be disciplined," a fourth agreed._

_ Dearil did not beg for forgiveness or plead her innocence. She had long since learned it was futile and would only make things worse._

_ Long ago she had been told, "_If you can manage not to flinch, all will be forgiven, deal?_"_

_ Just a simple flick of the finger, no matter how she prepared herself, was enough to dash her hopes. She always flinched. Her brothers always kept their words - they _were_ fey, after all. They just never made a deal they knew they couldn't win._

_ She now found herself whacked with her own large book, hard enough to throw her to the floor - not that she had a long fall, being on her knees in an abandoned attempt to rise. She was grabbed by the back of her dress to be flung into the wall and slid to the ground again. She wasn't sure if she was bleeding yet. They never stopped before she bled. Her hair was tugged at harshly (a dark red, nearly black like cooled lava - a fire doused by the endless sea) and her head was pulled up to look at her brothers. If she closed her eyes, they would know she was afraid to look upon her torturers. She _was_ afraid, but she forced herself to keep her eyes open._

_ "What shall we tell Father today, little Dearil?"_

_ She didn't answer; she wasn't expected to. The next blow across her cheek definitely drew blood. She was dropped so that her next brother could land a blow. One stepped on her fingers until there was a crack - either dislocation or something had broken. Another took the idea further and dislocated her shoulder by wrenching her arm hard enough for it to come out of its socket with ease._

_ Ah, so they were going easy on her today. They were probably bored with the constant abuse - they needed to find new ways to torture without killing her. No matter how cruel the Unseelie King was, he would not allow any of his sons to kill Dearil. That was part of the torture, perhaps. She would not be allowed to die, for death would be freedom from her painful life._

_ Dearil did not scream. She had lost her ability to do so long ago. It only worked to encourage them, after all. Her body went numb to the pain, so she simply let it happen._

_ Her eyes landed on Adaon, the one brother who refused to do anything. He would not harm her, but neither would he stand up _for_ her. She hated him most for that. At least her other brothers were noble enough to be consistent._

_ "What is going on here?"_

_ Fear would have surged through her if she were in the position to let it. Her sister Brynhildr was even less consistent than Adaon. Sometimes it felt like she had the best interests at heart for Dearil. At others, she was worse than her brothers._

_ "Dearil was late for her class," Brynhildr said, her voice flat and not giving away her position today. "Now I see why."_

_ She walked up to where Dearil lay on the floor. She then proceeded to kick Dearil in the stomach, sending her into the wall._

_ "I have warned you of being late before, Dearil. You will not go unpunished any longer."_

_ Ah, it was the latter._

_ "The rest of you, return to your duties," Brynhildr ordered. "Now. I will handle her."_

_ They slowly dispersed, watching as they went when Brynhildr grabbed Dearil and kneed her in the gut, slapping her head almost hard enough to cause whiplash. Brynhildr was abnormally strong, tall, and powerful - the only way a woman could survive in the Unseelie Court as a sister to the many princes._

_ "We shall deal with your formal punishment when you are finished with your lessons. Come along now. We've work to do."_

_ She grabbed Dearil's books in one hand and dragged the girl herself in the other. Her brothers simply watched them go_.

* * *

"Is Mark up there?" Cristina asked.

"Yes. You wish to speak to him?"

She nodded. "I think I'm the best equipped to speak with him. I'm not his family, I'm not Emma or Julian. I think I can be the most straight with him - about what I think, about how I feel about his situation. I think he needs a straight answer to his predicament right now."

"The human realm lacks such candid answers, yes."

Fionn allowed Cristina up to see Mark, who was still speaking with Helen on their video-call. It seemed incongruous - it _was_ incongruous, the faerie boy with the long, tangled hair, the tapestry of stars behind him, and the phone in his hand.

"I am so sorry, Helen."

The words echoed with such a depth of love and loneliness that Fionn wanted to usher Cristina away. Leaving was not an option, though. Mark had heard their approach, and there was no use trying to hide it. He turned slightly, gesturing for them to remain. Fionn walked over and sat down beside him while Cristina hovered uncertainly.

It was Dru who had told her that she would find Mark on the roof, and the others had urged her to go up and see if he was all right. She had wondered if it was really her place, but Ty and Livvy had been absorbed in their translation job, and she'd sensed Dru was afraid of Mark's harsh words. And it wasn't as if Tavvy could be sent to fetch his brother down - the boy was a decade younger than Mark, depending on how the fluctuating time in Faerie worked. So with some reluctance, Cristina had climbed the ladder to the roof. Now that she was here, though, she felt an aching sympathy for the boy perched at the roof's edge. The look on his face as he spoke to Helen - she couldn't imagine what it must be like for him, to know there was only one other person in his family quite like him, who shared his blood and heritage, and to know she was separated from him by such a cruel and unbreakable law.

"_We can talk again soon. I love you, Mark I hope you know that._"

"And I, you, my sister."

Mark moved to drop the phone in Fionn's hand as the screen went black and a small beep signaled the end of the call. He looked over at Cristina, the clouds casting shadows on his face.

"If you have come to tell me I behaved ill, I already know it."

"That's not why I came," Cristina said, moving close to him but not sitting down.

"But you agree. I behaved ill. I should not have spoken as I did to Julian, especially in front of the little ones."

Cristina spoke carefully. "I don't know Julian well, but I _do_ believe he was worried about you, and that's why he didn't want you to go with them."

"I know that. But do _you_ know what it's like, to have your little brother worry about you as if _you_ were the child?" He raked his fingers through his hair. "I thought, while I was gone, that Helen would be raising them. I never thought it would fall so much upon Julian's shoulders. I cannot tell if that is why he seems unknowable to me."

"A great deal of him is, I think, locked away. Have you seen the mural on the wall of his room? The one of the fairy tale? He is like that castle, I think, surrounded by thorns that he has grown to protect himself. But with time, you can cut those thorns away. I believe you will know your brother again."

"I don't know how much time I have. If we do not solve their puzzle, the Wild Hunt will reclaim me."

"Do you _want_ them to?" Cristina asked softly.

He said nothing, only glanced up at the sky.

"Is that why you come up to the roof? Because from here you can see the Hunt if they go by?"

Mark was silent for a long time. Then, he spoke. "I imagine sometimes I can hear them. That I can hear the sound of their hooves against the clouds."

She smiled. "I like the way you talk. It always sounds like poetry."

"I speak the way I was taught by the Folk. So many years under their tutelage."

He turned his hands over and placed them on his knees. The insides of his wrists were marked by odd, long scars.

"How many years? Do you know?"

He shrugged. "Time is not measured there as it is measured here. I could not say."

"The years do not show on your face. Sometimes you look as young as Julian and sometimes you look as the fey do - ageless."

Now he looked at her sideways. "You don't think I look like a Shadowhunter?"

"Do you _want_ to?"

"I want to look like my family. I cannot have the Blackthorn coloring, but I can look as much like Nephilim as possible. Julian was right - if I wish to be part of the investigation, I cannot stand out."

Cristina held back from telling Mark that there was no world in which he didn't stand out. "I can make you look like a Shadowhunter. If you come downstairs with me."

He moved noiselessly on the shingled roof as if he had the padded feet of a cat or as if he were wearing a Soundless rune. He stepped aside to let her lead the way downstairs. Even _that_ was hushed, and when she brushed by him, his skin was cool as night air. Fionn slipped after them, feeling slightly intrusive, but he knew that staying with Mark overrode any desire for privacy. She led the way to his room; he had left the lights off, so she illuminated her witchlight and set it down by the bed.

"That chair," she said, pointing. "Bring it into the middle of the room and sit down. I'll be right back."

Fionn grabbed the chair to do as she said as Mark looked after her quizzically when she left the room. When she returned, carrying a damp comb, a towel, and a pair of scissors, he was seated in the chair, still with the same quizzical look. He didn't sit the way other teenage boys did, all sprawl and legs and arms. He sat the way kings did in drawings, upright but deliberate, as if the crown rested uneasily on his head. Fionn stood beside him like a dutiful knight, guarding his king without question out of both loyalty and friendship.

"Are you going to cut my throat?" Mark asked as she came towards them with the towel and the sharp scissors gleaming.

"I'm going to cut your _hair_," she corrected, eyeing Fionn's defensive stance.

He slowly stepped aside, watching her carefully as she looped the towel around his neck and moved to stand behind him. His head tipped back to follow her movements as she took hold of his hair, running her fingers through it. It was the kind of hair that should have been curly but was weighed down by its own length and tangles.

"Hold still," she said.

"As my lady requests."

She ran the comb through his hair and began to cut, careful to keep the length even. As she snipped away the weight of his silvery-blond mane, it sprang free in adorable curls like Julian's. They twined up against the back of his neck as if they wanted to be close to him. Mark's hair was fine, like corn silk. It fell like gleaming chaff, catching the witchlight.

"Tell me about the faerie Court," she said. "I've always heard stories. My mother told me some, and my uncle."

"We didn't see it much," Mark said, sounding very ordinary for a moment. "Gwyn and the Hunters aren't part of any Court. He keeps himself to himself. We joined the Courts and the gentry only on nights when there were revels. But those were…"

He was silent for so long she wondered if he had fallen asleep or was perhaps simply deathly bored.

"If you had been to one, you would not forget it," Fionn continued. "Great sparkling caves or deserted copses in the woodlands full of will-o'-the-wisp lights. There are still some parts of this world that are undiscovered by all but the Folk."

"There was dancing to wear your feet down, and there were beautiful boys and girls, and kisses were cheaper than wine but the wine was sweet and the fruit sweeter," Mark mused.  
"And you would wake up in the morning and it would all be gone, but you could still hear the music in your head."

"I think I would find it very frightening," she admitted.

She moved around to stand in front of him. He looked up at her with his curious two-colored eyes and she felt a tremor run through her hand, one she'd never felt when she cut Diego's hair or his brother Jaime's or any of her little cousins'. Of course, they'd been twelve when she'd clipped their hair, showing off what her mother had taught her, so maybe it was different when you were older.

"Everything so glamorous and beautiful. How can a human compare?"

Mark looked surprised. "But you would be lovely in the Court. They would turn leaves and flowers into jeweled crowns and sandals for you. You would sparkle and be admired. The Folk love nothing more than mortal beauty."

"Because it fades," she said.

"Yes," he admitted. "It is true that eventually you will become gray and bent and withered, and it is possible that hair will sprout from your chin. And there is also the issue of warts." He caught her glare. "But that time is a long time away," he added hastily.

Cristina snorted. "I thought faeries were meant to be charming."

"We are _very_ charming, Cristina Rosales," Fionn smirked. "So charming we are not, as are most things in Faerie."

She sighed. "True enough."

She slid a hand under his chin to steady his head as she snipped away the last unruly strands. That was different too; his skin was smooth as hers, no hint of stubble or roughness. His eyes narrowed, their color thinning to a gleam as she set the scissors aside and cleared her throat.

"There. Would you like to see?"

He straightened up in the chair. Cristina was bending down; their heads were on a level. "Lean closer. For years I have had no mirror; I have learned to make do. The eyes of another can be a mirror more effective than water. If you will look at me, I can see my reflection in yours."

Cristina wondered whose eyes he had been looking into, all those years. She didn't know why she did it, leaning forward as he wished; maybe it was the way his eyes stayed fixed on hers, as if he couldn't imagine anything more fascinating than looking at her. His gaze didn't stray, either, not to the V of her shirt or her bare legs or even her hands, as she opened her eyes wide and looked directly back at him.

"Beautiful," he said finally.

"Do you mean your haircut?" she asked, trying for a teasing voice, but it wobbled in the middle.

Maybe she shouldn't have offered to so intimately touch a complete stranger, even if he did seem harmless, even if she hadn't meant anything by it - had she?

"No," he said on a soft exhale.

She felt his breath warm on her neck, and his hand slid over hers. His was rough and calloused, scarred along the palm.

Fionn knew that this should technically be a private moment between them, but all he could think about was what Kieran would think when he saw the pair's interactions. He would become ever more paranoid about the Nephilim stealing Mark away. Kieran cared deeply for Mark, but at the same time he needed Mark more than he was willing to admit. He needed someone to love and someone to love him - it was the only thing that he had in a world where he had been cast out. Having a brother was nothing like having a lover - someone who would love you unconditionally vs someone who you would have to work to gain their affections. If Kieran could be loved by someone who didn't _need_ to love him, then that meant he was worth _something_, right? Without Mark, Kieran would live a lonely life with the Hunt, the outcast that he always had been. Fionn didn't want that for his brother, but he also wanted Mark to be happy. He and his family deserved to be together, but at the same time Fionn favored his brother's happiness. But would Mark truly be happy if he was ripped away from his family once more? And would Kieran, by extension, ever have the same relationship if he knew that Mark was unsatisfied with his life? It was a dilemma if there ever was one.

The door opened suddenly, Ty and Livvy appearing in the doorway. Livvy was holding her phone, and her eyes were wide and worried.

"It's Emma," she said, lifting the phone. "She texted nine-one-one. We need to go meet them right away."

* * *

"A powerful magic," Lock muttered.

"What is?" Selina asked.

"Someone's got powerful magic. Not warlock, not faerie. Very dangerous; magic."

His voice broke up in pauses that Selina couldn't tell if they were commas or periods. She couldn't tell if he was saying that he was sensing very dangerous magic or if he was remarking that magic was very dangerous in general.

"My little gem was good at magic - brilliant at it, even."

"How did you meet?"

"I did some work with the Unseelie Court. They called me in to search for the Oracle because an Astral was ravaging their land. They couldn't fight against it or risk the wrath of _all_ the Astrals, and so they needed the Oracle to commune with it and find out why it was mad. Usually they brought in another warlock, but this time, they needed me because I had known the last Oracle. I met my little gem there, so sad and broken. So I made a deal - I would find their Oracle and request her aid and in exchange, Dearil would come with me for one year in the human world."

"And they agreed?"

He nodded. "We met Ellesmira, she didn't like us at first much. I gave her the Oracle's blessing - a trinket that would unlock her true nature - and she got super angry and kicked us out immediately. But at least we learned that Dearil was the key to taming the Astral."

"Who was the Astral?"

"A powerful steed, a Fulgarian, Zoltan."

* * *

"Yes, the horde of Mantid demons was dealt with," Finn reported.

"_Good work,_" Robert Lightwood said over the phone. "_Do you have a cause of the sudden yet unnoticed gathering of the demons?_"

"We're looking into it now, but it appears that they've used something related to the ley lines to cloak their appearance. I've contacted the High Warlocks of San Francisco and Los Angeles to see if the can dig anything up in the Downworld - considering Nephilim would be the last people anyone would confess to raising a horde of demons to."

"_Update me when you have the situation under control. Is that all you have to report?_"

Finn had _many_ things that he really _should_ have reported, but he knew that he couldn't He felt bad for lying to Robert Lightwood, considering the man was both the Inquisitor and he was apparently becoming a good guy ever since he'd become a grandfather, but at the same time, the Blackthorns didn't deserve to get in trouble and Robert didn't deserve the pain that came with punishing them under a law that he himself wasn't fond of.

"Yes, sir."

"_You're doing well for your first few days, Finnegan. Don't think that you're doing a terrible job just because there isn't some big war to fight._"

"I understand, sir. I'd rather _not_ have another war for a while, in all honesty."

There was a light chuckle from the other end. "_You're prepared for it, I know that much, based on the rumors of you during the Dark War._"

"Rumors, sir, that's all they are. I fought like everyone else. I was just one of the lucky ones that didn't die."

When Finn managed to hang up on the Inquisitor, he stared at his phone for a long time. As if by fate, it started ringing a minute later, an unknown number coming up. Not one to avoid anonymous calls, he hit the answer button. Hey, he had nothing better to do.

"Finnegan Scion, Head of San Francisco Institute."

"_Finn!_"

He sat forward in his seat. "Merida?!"

"_Hey! So, I guess the rumors were true…Samuel and all…_"

"Yeah, he…demon attack. We've had a couple of those lately. Necromancers."

"_Ugh, sounds fun. Anyway, how ya _been?!_ It's been _ages_, you know._"

They spent a good hour catching each other up on all that they could - Merida having to keep a lot of things confidential.

"Top of your class, eh? I expected no less."

She chuckled. "_Ha, says the one that's changed so much! You're _awesome_ now! Really taken life by the reins, using a violin in battle and showing those snobs in the Clave that music isn't some bad hobby._"

"It's been fun. I took out some Mantid demons recently - always fun."

"_A few or a lot?_"

"A horde."

"_Alone?_" she asked skeptically.

"No, but I took out a crap ton."

She giggled. "_Well, I'll just have to take your word for it. Oh, which reminds me; the reason I called is because I wanted to know if you've seen one of my men._"

"How many men have you _got_, Mer? Popular, aren't we?"

"_Ha, ha. I meant one of the guys under my command. His name's Diego Rocío Rosales. One of our youngest members to graduate, and therefore he appears to be as hot-headed and rash as youngsters always are._"

"Are we _not_ considered youngsters anymore? Wow, that's very sad in hindsight."

"_Sadly. Anyway, he went to the Los Angeles Institute when he heard about necromantic activity, about Emma and her belief that her parents were killed in some bad way. I approved of it because he was so adamant about it, but according to him, he was turned away at the Los Angeles Institute by Arthur Blackthorn. Since then, he hasn't reported back in and Arthur says that Diego isn't there and was pretty rude about hanging up on me about bothering him for no reason. Do me a favor and go find my subordinate and kick his ass for me please?_"

"Going AWOL is a serious offense, isn't it?"

He could practically _hear_ his sister shrug over the phone. He knew her so well. "_It's his first time out, his first offense, and he's one of our youngest candidates that graduated. As long as I give him proper punishment and warn him not to do stuff like this again, he can be let off the hook with a warning. Now, the _second_ offense and we'll have to get to some serious punishments, but for now, I ask that you send someone out to look for him, bring him in, put him on the phone with me, and then hopefully send him back here for a stern lecture. If he runs away before he can make it to me, then you sent him here with an escort. He escapes that escort, I go down there myself and arrest him for insubordination and betrayal - probably have him put on trial, high likelihood of de-runing him, you know, the works._"

"Got it. I'll send someone looking for him."

"_What about Selina? I got a call from _her_ earlier, but she said that she was out. For parabatai, you seem to spend a lot of time away from each other._"

"She's…going through some changes right now. It makes our parabatai thing a little wonky, but I still love her all the same. She's just doing what she's doing."

"_Boy troubles?_"

He thought about her last phone call where she'd said that Lock was making progress on the investigation and she had to stay there with him. He'd gotten the message that it was something she _wanted_ to talk about but couldn't for Lock's sake, and so he had accepted the explanation.

"Pretty much. I'll give you a hint. It's a warlock."

He could hear her nod. Yes, he could _hear_ her nod. "_Ah, say no more. Those two should _really_ get together._"

It occurred to Finn that Merida didn't know that Selina was part Astral - she had left for the Scholomance before that had been revealed, and he couldn't tell her anything through notes and phone calls because she was being closely monitored to keep the secrets of the Scholomance.

"Love comes with issues, am I right? Speaking of which, about that boy of yours…"

"_I don't have a boy!_" she snapped so fast that it was obvious she had a boy.

"Right, right. Come on, Mer. It's been _years_ now."

She took a few deep breaths that he had no doubt made her look like she was trying to meditate. She was probably sweeping her arm in front of her, imagining a ramp and her energy levels slowly fading as her fingers followed the path of the ramp downwards.

"_Not talking about this with you. Not. At. All._"

"How _is_ Half-Light doing, anyway?" he prodded.

"_Aaron Half-Light is my second in command and he's a very nice person who has gone through a lot so please, let it go._"

There was something serious in her tone that made Finn frown, knowing that she wanted to explain but again, they were being closely monitored.

"Okay, okay. But if _I_ never get married, I expect _you_ to be the one to carry on the Scion name."

"_Uh, Finn, you're the boy. _You_ are the only one of us that can pass on the Scion name. I'm the girl. My name gets replaced with the guy I marry._"

"Unless you marry a girl. In which case, you can hyphenate your name or just take up your name overall. Hey, it's not against the law or anything."

"_Sorry to disappoint you, little bro, but I am strictly into men._"

"If you're into _anyone_ that is."

"_Exactly. I'm glad we can come to such an agreement._"

He snickered. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're doing okay. _Better_ than okay, even."

"_And I'm glad to hear _you're_ doing okay too. It's good to hear your voice after so long._"

"Ditto."

"_Well, we have our missions here in the Scholomance too, so maybe one day I'll see you in person._"

"Ooo, can't wait to see you all dressed up in your Centurion gear."

"Chief_ Centurion gear, excuse you._"

"Excuse me," he agreed.

"_I'll call you soon, Finn._"

"_See_ you soon, right?"

She let out a breathy chuckle and he imagined her dropping her head slightly in defeat. "_Yes, _see_ you soon. One day._"

"One day."

* * *

"_What_ is a '_Canter's_'?" Fionn demanded in an exasperated tone when Livvy had explained where Emma said that they'd meet them.

"It's a place we all like to go!" Livvy explained.

"A person's residence? One of your food-collection locals? Is it safe for Mark and I to be witnessed? Is it mundane or connected to the Shadow World?"

Livvy reeled on him and pointed an almost comically angry finger at him. "Now is _not_ the time to be pedantic, faerie man! Nevermind that! How are we gonna get there without the car?!"

"My faerie steed could hold you all should he find you desirable."

"Unlikely," Mark muttered.

Fionn whistled for his steed to appear and requested his aid, which - just as Mark predicted - didn't go too well.

"Stubborn steed. I am your master."

"**_And _they_ aren't my masters_**," Zoltan communicated through their mental link. "**_No obligation to losers that aren't worthy of my time._**"

"Jerk," Fionn muttered, thinking that the human slang should be the steed's new name.

"We must call for another steed if we hope to bring all our companions," Mark declared.

Fionn nodded. "Wait here. Mark and I shall procure a steed who might be of use."

Zoltan snickered, which sounded very close to a horse scoff.

The two of them walked away from the others, far enough that they were out of sight and hearing distance. Fionn concentrated. He had built up a relationship with Kieran's faerie steed, given to him by Gwyn when he had joined the Hunt, and had learned to communicate with the steed as well as Kieran. He could also summon Windspear - Kieran's faerie steed, given to him by one of their more benevolent brothers long ago when Kieran was very young. Windspear was a fair white in comparison to the steed given to him by Gwyn - black and skeletal, a mount of the dead. He explained the need for a faerie steed through a quick mental link before he felt a _snap_ and Kieran's dark steed was on his way. It wasn't long before the midnight black horse appeared in the sky. When the stallion landed, fierce eyes staring at Fionn curiously in recognition, Fionn pet the horse gently.

"We require your aid," Fionn said, running his hand along the horse's muzzle. "There are new passengers you must allow to mount. And you will need a glamour."

Fionn got the steed to disguise himself as a motorcycle, glowing, black, and with a painted design of horns on the chassis.

"Your reunion with my brother might be allowed when we assure your brother and his parabatai are in good health."

"I didn't realize you cared so," Mark said.

"I am not fond of your relations, but I have come to respect them. And you would be inconsolable should I allow your Nephilim to perish."

He allowed Mark to go forward to join the others and pick them up while Fionn called over Zoltan and mounted him as a horse. He followed after Mark, who presumably was getting directions from his siblings or he simply knew the location of this '_Canter's_.' They started down the actual road and down the freeway, forcing Zoltan and Fionn to follow with a glamour around them that made them invisible to mundane eyes. That, in turn, forced them to remain as close to Kieran's black steed as possible since the motorcycle was still visible to mundane traffic. Then, when they had finally taken off, Mark's passengers hadn't been as thrilled as Hunter or even Emma had been when they'd gone on their first ride through the sky.

When Mark guided Kieran's steed down to land, Fionn followed and landed, dismounting to sprint over to where the others had landed with the Blackthorns and Cristina Rosales. Mark's landing had been just as unstable as the take-off, so much so that Mark nearly crashed despite being well-equipped to ride Kieran's horses - both of them, Windspear and the fierce steed from Gwyn - and having done so many times in the past.

Livia Blackthorn hopped off the faerie steed as fast as she could, hurried over to the Los Angeles Institute's car, pulled the front door open, and clambered into the front seat with a witchlight in her right hand. Its irregular beams illuminated the strange scene in the back of the Toyota: Emma Carstairs in her bloody clothes; Julian, shirtless, jammed against the rear door.

"Is everything okay?" Livvy demanded. She was gripping her phone in one hand; she must have been waiting for more messages. "You texted nine-one-one-"

"Everything's fine," Emma said, sliding across the bench seat, away from Julian.

He struggled upright, looking down dubiously at his shredded shirt. "Someone shot me with a crossbow bolt. The iratzes weren't working."

"Well, you look fine now," Livvy observed, eying him, puzzled. "Bloody, but…"

"A little parabatai magic. They weren't working, then they were. Sorry to scare you."

"It looks like a mad science lab back here." There was relief on Livvy's face. "Who shot you, anyway?"

"It's a long story," Julian said. "How did you get here? You didn't drive, did you?"

Mark stuck his head into the car, looking into the back seat, his blond hair haloed in the witchlight. "I drove," he announced. "Upon a faerie steed."

"What? But…but your faerie steed was shredded by demons!"

"There are as many faerie steeds as there are riders," Mark said, looking pleased to be mysterious. He was still a faerie, deep down inside. "I did not say it was _my_ faerie steed. Just _a_ faerie steed."

Mark pulled away out of the front seat, going around so that he could open the back door where Julian was. He leaned in, picked up his younger brother bodily, and lifted him out of the car.

"What-?" Emma seized up her stele and scrambled out after them.

She noticed the two other figures standing on the asphalt of the parking lot - Cristina and Ty, illuminated by the lights of Kieran's dark steed in motorcycle form. Well, actually, the entire motorcycle itself was glowing.

"Jules?" Ty looked blanched and frightened as Julian pulled free of Mark's grip, yanking down the tattered remains of his shirt.

Cristina hurried over to Emma as Julian turned to his younger brother. "Ty, everything's all right. I'm fine."

"But you're covered in blood," Ty said. He wasn't looking directly at Julian, but he must have been remembering - remembering the Dark War, and the blood and the dying all around him. "People have only so much blood they can lose before-"

"I'll get some blood-replacement runes. Remember, Ty, we're Shadowhunters. We can handle a lot."

"You're covered in blood too," Cristina murmured to Emma, shrugging off her own jacket. She slung it around Emma's shoulders, covering her bloody tank top. She brushed her hands through Emma's hair, looking at her worriedly. "You sure you're not hurt?"

"The blood is Blackthorn," Fionn assured them. "The smell of Blackthorn blood is quite familiar to my nose, and Emma Carstairs has only Julian Blackthorn's blood upon her."

Cristina pulled Emma into a hug, knowing that having her parabatai - someone closer than family, closer than a lover, someone who was a _part_ of Emma - bleeding out in front of her had to have been traumatizing. She patted Emma's back and Emma hung on to her for dear life and decided there and then that if anyone ever tried to hurt Cristina she would grind them to a pulp and make amusing sand castles out of the remains.

Livvy had moved to stand next to Ty and was holding his hand, murmuring to him that the blood was just blood, Julian wasn't hurt, everything was fine. Ty was breathing quickly, his hand opening and closing over Livvy's.

"Ease your heart, boy," Fionn said, leaning down to meet Ty's eyes. "Your brother is strong, as are you. Fear is your greatest enemy in the face of death - not a monster, not a human, no creature of the night or day is as great. If you can tame your own heart, no beast shall ever threaten you again and you might be a shield to others' hearts who still tremble in the face of the inevitable."

Ty stared at Fionn, only half reassured. Hm, maybe Fionn still needed to work on his comforting skills.

"Here." Mark shrugged out of his blue T-shirt. He was wearing another T-shirt under it, this one gray. Julian blinked at him as he offered it to his brother. "Proper vestments."

"Why are you wearing a T-shirt under your other T-shirt?" Livvy asked, temporarily diverted.

"In case one of them is stolen," Mark said, as if this were entirely normal.

Everyone paused to stare at him, even Julian, who had stripped off the rags of his shirt and covered himself with Mark's.

"It is a _very_ serious issue," Fionn announced, which seemed to break everyone out of their trance.

"Well, thanks," Julian said, pulling Mark's shirt down over his belt.

He tossed the scraps of his old shirt on top of a Dumpster. Mark seemed pleased - and the others seemed to realize that Mark had gotten a new haircut. His hair was no longer hanging past his shoulders, but was cut short - or shorter, curling around his ears. It made him look both younger and more modern, less incongruous in his jeans and boots. More like a Shadowhunter, Fionn thought to himself sadly.

Mark looked back. There was still the wind in his eyes, and the stars, and vast fields of empty clouds. Wildness and freedom. Fionn briefly wondered how deep his transformation back into a Shadowhunter ran. How deep it would _ever_ run. Fionn didn't know what he really hoped for, but he felt sad at the idea of Mark changing, and also sad at the idea that Mark would never be able to be rid of the scars the Hunt left upon both his body and his mind. He would never be the person that the Blackthorns once knew, he would never be able to be a full Shadowhunter again.

Emma put a hand on her head. "I feel dizzy."

"You need food," Livvy announced, grabbing her hand. "We all do. Nobody's eaten tonight, and Jules, you're forbidden from cooking. Let's go to Canter's, grab some dinner, and figure out what to do next."

**_-TTOT-_**

Everything inside Canter's was yellow. The walls were yellow, the booths were yellow, and most of the food was a shade of yellow. Not that Emma minded; she'd been coming to Canter's since she was four years old with her parents to eat their chocolate-chip pancakes and challah French toast.

When this was explained to Fionn, he simply got even _more_ confused and wished that he could use a rune upon himself to prevent the brightness of the place from reaching his eyes. Lock had once described glasses mundanes used to prevent the sun from affecting their vision. He wanted those glasses now.

They Nephilim all piled into a corner booth while Fionn grabbed a chair from one of the tables and sat on the side, ready to move at a moment's notice. Mark smiled as he saw Fionn's unconscious defensive move, but he said nothing. Fionn simply sat and watched as a tall woman (he would later be told it was called a 'waitress' and she was to cater to their needs like a servant woman because she was getting paid to do so) with gray hair came by to dump a pile of shiny paper on their table (Fionn happily knew it was called a 'menu' thanks to his excursions with Hunter - Finnegan). He had gone out to eat mundane food before thanks to his few dates with Finnegan and he'd had adjusted to human food with Lock, Pyre, and Wolf all joining in as they taught him about their human eating habits, but having a location where you were served rather than simply getting your food on your own felt both counterproductive and unnecessary. He was fully capable of grabbing his own meals - well, sort of (Hunter had usually chosen his food for him back when they had gone out). And besides, he had nothing to pay with. Lock would, he thought to himself. Lock _always_ had currency on him - no matter the location he was paying and what currency they took: gold, silver, coins of all shapes and sizes, rectangular sheets of paper, etc.

When he voiced this thought aloud, Livia Blackthorn assured him that they would be paying.

"I must give my payment to you in some way."

"How about you just owe us a favor?" Julian suggested.

"A favor is quite a dangerous thing to agree upon, Julian Blackthorn, for you could make me do any task no matter my level of comfort in the matter."

"Then consider it _us_ paying _you_ for looking after Mark. And an apology for not trusting you when you've done so much for him."

Fionn had little choice but to agree to the deal because Julian's phone rang and he moved to answer it immediately, effectively cutting off their conversation.

"Julian here." A pause as Fionn thought he heard a familiar voice coming through the electronic device. "We're at Canter's. Everything's fine." A pause. "Sure. I'll send you the address."

Julian pulled the phone from his ear and typed something on the magic screen before putting his phone away.

"Who was that?"

"Finnegan. He says that he has news for us but he wants to deliver it in person. Besides, he's tired of being cooped up in his office doing his new Head duties. He finally finished and now he wants to join us."

Fion felt relieved that he'd have Finnegan by his side again. The Shadowhunter was his only real connection to the world of Nephilim beyond Mark, and he was the most reliable source of information. He wouldn't deny that on the inside he felt a warmth bloom in his chest, imagining Finnegan's touch and his mere presence beside Fionn.

Livvy and Ty shared a menu while Fionn and Mark tried to use their collective half-knowledge of human food to try and come up with something that their faerie-attuned selves would prefer. On the other half of the booth, Cristina asked Emma in a whisper what a 'matzo brei' was. Emma seemed very dazed and distracted, especially noticeable when the waitress came asking for what they wanted and she simply stared. Julian was forced to order her waffles and hot chocolate before handing the menu back hastily, looking at her worriedly. He also ordered some fries and a spicy chicken for Finnegan, having gotten his order through a text message.

She and Julian shared a silent conversation, and Fionn guessed that he was asking if she was okay. She nodded, reaching for her plastic glass of ice water, just as Mark smiled at the waitress and ordered two plates of strawberries for him and Fionn.

The waitress, whose name tag said **JEAN**, blinked. "We don't have that on the menu."

"But you do have strawberries on the menu," Mark said smoothly. "And we have seen plates being carried to and fro. So it stands to reason that the strawberries could be placed upon plates and brought to us."

Jean stared.

"He has a point," Ty said. "Strawberries are offered as a topping on several dishes. Surely you could separate them out."

"Plates of strawberries," Jean repeated.

"We would accept them in a bowl," Fionn said with a winning gaze.

"It has been many years since I have eaten freely at my choice, fair one, and a plate of strawberries is all that I desire," Mark continued.

Jean looked dazed. "Right," she said, and disappeared with the menus.

Fionn and Mark clasped forearms in victory with victorious smiles as though they'd just defeated a giant monster together.

"Mark, was that necessary?" Julian asked.

"Was _what_ necessary?" he asked innocently.

"You don't _have_ to sound like a medieval faerie poem," Julian said. "You sound perfectly normal half the time. Maybe we should discuss keeping a low profile."

"I cannot help it," Mark said with a small smile. "It's something about mundanes…"

"Our speech is often criticized in Faerie should we make errors," Fionn said. "It is often best to refine one's speech patterns to become automatic. And Mark is, as you humans would say, '_weird like that_.'"

"You need to act more like a normal human being," Julian insisted. "When we're out in public."

"He doesn't need to sound normal," Ty said sharply.

"He bumped into a pay phone and said, 'Excuse me, miss,' on our way in."

"It's polite to apologize," Fionn said with a small smile matching Mark's.

"Not to inanimate objects."

"Near everything is animated in Faerie."

"What did I just hear about the pay phone?"

They looked up to see Finnegan standing there, having just walked in. Fionn's heart did an irrational jump at seeing him again even though they had barely been apart for a day. He was becoming dependent on the man. In his defense, Finnegan had a new outfit on that wasn't for missions and was more formal. Rather than his normal loose battle gear he had on a formal suit with a fancy jacket and shoes that definitely weren't for combat and a black fedora over his head covering his orange curls. His shirt was tucked into his pants while he had his hands resting in the pockets of his jacket, unbuttoned yet still very fancy. He had no tie. Fionn shouldn't have found it so attractive, but it was simply the fact that it was a new outfit for Finnegan that made him avert his eyes and take a deep breath to recompose himself.

"There's a _song_ about a payphone that's actually pretty catchy. Great, I'm gonna have it stuck in my head all night now."

"Mark bumped into a pay phone and apologized to it," Cristina said.

"He said, 'Excuse me, miss,'" Livvy recounted.

Finnegan pulled up a seat next to Fionn, removing his hat. "How did you know that the pay phone was a girl?"

"All right, enough," Emma interrupted. "Let's just get to business."

She explained how they went to Stanley Well's house only to find a woman named Ava's body - as she had long since been deceased when they had arrived. Then she told how a mysterious figure had shot Julian and Emma had attempted to pursue but had lost him.

"So she was dead, but it was nothing like the other murders?" Livvy asked with a frown. "It seems unrelated - no markings, body dumped in a pool outside her own house, not at a ley line…"

"What about the guy on the roof?" Cristina asked. "Do you think he's the killer?"

"I highly doubt it," Finnegan said, a pensive look on his face. "You said he had a crossbow, yes? And none of the former victims have been killed with crossbows. And he didn't attempt to kill you both - if he were the killer, he would've wanted to leave no witnesses to his presence. More likely, he was there just as you were, to investigate. He might've thought _you_ were the killers, which explains the shoot first, ask questions later method before he realized you were Shadowhunters."

"Well he hurt Jules, so when we track him down, I'm going to chop him up and feed him to my fish," Emma declared firmly.

"You don't have fish," Julian said.

"Well, I'm going to buy some. I'm going to buy goldfish and feed them blood until they acquire a taste for human flesh."

"I love her enthusiasm," Fionn declared.

"You _would_," Finnegan said playfully, which made Fionn smile.

"That's disgusting," Livvy said. "Does this mean we still need to return to Well's house and search it?"

"As long as we check the roof first," Emma declared.

"We can't," Ty announced. He held up his phone. "I was looking at the news. Someone called in the body. The mundane police are crawling all over the place. We won't be able to get anywhere near it for a few days at least."

Emma blew out an exasperated breath. "Well, as least we have this."

She reached behind her to grab Ava's bag. She upended it on the table and the contents rattled out: wallet, makeup case, lip balm, mirror, hairbrush, and something flat, golden, and shiny. Needless to say, Fionn went for that first.

"No phone," Ty observed, a line of annoyance gathering between his brows.

He could have done a lot with the phone. Too bad it was at the bottom of the Well's pool.

"What's that thing?" Livvy asked, motioning to the object Fionn had picked up.

The faerie was already confused with many mundane things, but this looked to be a shining square of blank gold. Finnegan took it and examined it before giving it to Livvy. "Unsure am I."

Emma flicked through the wallet. Credit cards, driver's license, about eleven dollars in cash.

"No photos or anything?" Julian asked, looking over her shoulder.

"I don't think people keep photos in their wallets except in movies. Not since iPhones."

"Phones of the eye?" Fionn asked.

"No, it's just a brand name," Finnegan explained.

"Speaking of movies," Livvy said, furrowing her bow, looking briefly - as she did sometimes - like Ty. "This thing looks like the Golden Ticket. You know, from _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_."

She waved the shining piece of laminated paper.

"Let me see it," Cristina requested.

"I was so confused by that movie," Finnegan admitted. "And the remake plain scared me."

"More than fighting demons?" Emma asked with a cheeky grin.

"Way more. Like, a girl blowing up into a giant blue ball! Ugh, gives me _nightmares_. At least demons are consistent, but that was magic that turned a human into something that should've killed her. Never had I wanted a Fearless rune more than when I first saw that."

Livvy handed the so called Golden Ticket to Cristina as the waitress returned with their food: grilled cheese for Ty, a turkey sandwich for Cristina, a BLT for Julian ("It stands for Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomatoes, Fionn."), waffles for Emma and Livvy, and the plates of strawberries for the faeries.

"Really?" Finnegan whispered to Fionn.

The faerie shrugged. "I knew of no other delicacies I preferred, and it is what Mark recommended."

Cristina took out her stele and scribbled, humming, on a corner of the gold paper. Mark, looking beatific, took the dispenser of maple syrup off the table and upended it over his strawberries. He picked one up and put it in his mouth, stem and all. He offered one to Fionn, who repeated the motion with a curious face before he realized that the human foods that were processed weren't far off from the real thing and allowed Mark to do the same to his plate of strawberries.

Julian stared at him.

"What?" Mark asked innocently. "This is a perfectly normal thing to eat."

"Sure it is," Julian said. "If you're a hummingbird."

Mark raised an eyebrow.

"Look," Cristina interrupted, pushing the golden paper toward the middle of the table.

It was no longer blank. Instead, it featured the shimmering photo of a building, and beside it words in block letters:

_THE FOLLOWERS OF THE GUARDIAN  
INVITE YOU TO THE LOTTERY  
THIS MONTH'S PERFORMANCE: AUGUST 11, 7 P.M.  
THE MIDNIGHT THEATER_

_This ticket admits one group. Semiformal attire_.

"The Lottery?" Julian echoed. "That's the name of a famous horror story. Did they make it into a play or something?"

"It doesn't _sound_ like a play," Livvy said. "It sounds creepy."

"It's a creepy story," Julian agreed.

"Wasn't there a story where someone got stoned to death in a story called 'The Lottery?'" Finnegan asked, chewing part of his spicy chicken sandwich.

"For what reason?" Fionn asked.

"Apparently it was a tradition that was said to make their town prosperous. It was symbolically putting all of the sins of the town into one person and killing them, and it said something about mob mentality too - how people would do something cruel just because everyone else was doing it too, and how people don't think about the consequences of something if it's a tradition. It's a cruel story since the woman chosen dies. There's no heroic savior, no political challenge of the moral implications, she's just killed because that's how it was."

"How…fey of them."

"That would be a bad play," Ty said.

Julian picked up the ticket. There was pain under his fingernails, shimmering small crescents of blue. "The creepiest thing about this is that this theater is shut down. I know the place; it's up past Highland Park. It's been shut down for years."

"Sixteen years," Ty said. He had mastered the art of using his phone one-handed and was squinting at the screen. "Shut down after a fire and never rebuilt."

"I've driven past it," Emma said. "It's all boarded up, isn't it?"

Julian nodded. "I painted it once. I was painting abandoned buildings, places like the Murphy Ranch, closed businesses. I remember that one. It had a ghostly feel."

"It's interesting," Mark said. "But does it have anything to do with the investigation? The murders?"

Everyone looked mildly surprised that Mark had asked something so practical.

"I think it might," Emma said. "I was at the Shadow Market last week-"

"I wish you'd quit going to the Shadow Market," Julian muttered. "It's dangerous there-"

"Oh, _no!_ Not _danger_, Mr. I-Just-Almost-Bled-Out-in-My-Car."

Julian sighed and reached for his soda. "I can't believe I ever complained about 'Jules' as a nickname."

"Maybe we should talk about the Shadow Market," Cristina said hastily. "It is where Emma first heard information about the murders."

Emma nodded, taking that as permission to begin her tale. "Well, you can imagine how happy the Marketers were to see me and Cameron-"

"You went with _Cameron?_" Julian interrupted.

Livvy held up a hand. "In Emma's defense, Cameron's annoying, but he's hot." Julian gave her a look. "I mean, if you _like_ guys who look like a redheaded Captain America, which I…don't?" She spared a glance towards Finnegan, who was now also giving her a look. "No offense to redheads."

"Captain America is definitely the most handsome Avenger," Cristina said. "But I like the Hulk. I would like to heal his broken heart."

"I'm a Thor guy, not gonna lie," Finnegan said. "But Black Widow is definitely better as a person - you know, not arrogant and overpowered, but skillful and good under pressure. And she's also not bad-looking just as a bonus."

"We're _Nephilim_," Julian stressed. "We're not even supposed to _know_ about the Avengers. Besides," he added, "Iron Man is obviously the best-looking."

"I do not want to know who these Avengers are nor how attractive they supposedly are," Fionn deadpanned, ripping open one of the packs of sugar and downing it in one go.

"Can I finish my story?" Emma demanded. "I was at the Market with Cameron, and I remember now, I saw a booth that had a placard up that said something like 'Sign Up for the Lottery.' So I think it's something supernatural, not experimental theater or whatever."

"I have no idea who the Avengers are," observed Mark, who had finished his strawberries and was eating sugar out of a packet, mimicking Fionn. Ty looked gratified - he had no time for superheroes. "But I agree with you. This is a lead. Someone murdered Stanley Wells, and now his girlfriend is dead too. Even if it is in a completely different way."

"I think we can all agree it can't be a coincidence," Emma said. "Them both dying."

"The universe is never so careless," Finnegan and Fionn said together as Finnegan casually took one of Fionn's maple-covered strawberries and ate it and Fionn coated some sugar onto another and stuck it into his mouth.

"She could have been killed because she knew something, not because she was a sacrifice like he was or a part of the same ritual," Mark said. "Death breeds death, after all." He looked thoughtful. "She was invited to this Lottery performance. She thought it was important enough to carry the ticket around with her. I think it could be a threat to follow."

"Or it could be nothing," Julian said.

"We don't have much else to investigate," Emma pointed out.

"We do, actually. We've still got your photos from the inside of the cave at the convergence. And now we have whoever was at Well's house and shot at me - we've still got my gear jacket with whatever poison he used on it. Maybe Malcolm could look into that, find out if it's associated with a particular demon or warlock who might sell it."

"I can start a search for a mysterious figure that attacked a Shadowhunter - definitely human of some sort," Finnegan announced. "I have a lot more resources than I did before. And we're already looking into a mundane rebellion that seems intent on taking down the Shadow World. And a rogue faerie organization that's gone underground since we took out one of its factions. Oh, and I just got report of an AWOL Centurion in California that was turned away by your uncle when he tried to look into necromantic activity so he took matters into his own hands. We're already searching, so we might as well get searching for this new threat as well."

"Great," Emma said. "We can do both. August 11th is tomorrow night." She frowned at the ticket. "Oh, God, semiformal. Fancy. I don't think I have any dresses that fancy, and Mark will need a suit…ugh, and Fionn too if he's gonna follow Mark everywhere like a guard dog."

"My hounds are not accompanying me, and I would hardly say I resemble them," Fionn protested. "Unless you _desire_ my hounds to join us, in which case-"

"Mark doesn't have to go," Julian said quickly. "He and Fionn can stay at the Institute."

"No," Mark said. His voice was calm, but his eyes sparkled. "I will not. I was brought here to help you investigate these murders, and that is what I will do."

Julian sat back. "Not if we can't rune you. It's not safe."

"You Nephilim are far too reliant upon your Marks if you can go nowhere and do nothing when they are unavailable," Fionn muttered.

"I have protected myself without runes for many years," Mark argued. "If I do not go with you, then those in Faerie who sent me here will learn of it - if not through me, through Fionn Flann - and they will not be pleased. The punishment will be severe."

"The terms of your agreement were clear that Mark was given to assist you," Fionn agreed. "Should you risk breaking these terms, you will risk his choice when this investigation has come to a close."

"Oh, let him go," Livvy said, looking anxious. "Jules-"

Julian touched the edge of his shirt, the gesture half unconscious. "How will they know to punish you if you don't tell them? Either of you?"

"You think it is easy to lie when you have grown up around people who do not lie?" Mark said, cheeks flushing with anger. "And do you think they do not have their own ways to ferret out lies when humans tell them?"

"They will not risk anything, Julian Blackthorn," Fionn agreed. "If a technicality may be used in order to reclaim Mark, they will use it. If you truly desire your brother's safety, you will stop treating him as though he is fragile. He is far stronger than you give him credit for, but with the Folk, strength matters not when truth holds greater dominion."

"You are _human_, Mark," Julian said hotly. "You're not one of them, you don't act like one of them-"

Mark and Fionn flung themselves up from the table in sync and stalked across the room.

"What are they doing?" Emma asked.

The pair had made their way to a neighboring table of pierced and tattooed mundane girls who looked like they'd just come from a nightclub and were giggling madly as the boys talked to them.

"By the Angel."

Julian threw down some money on the table and scrambled to his feet, ducking out of the booth. Emma scraped everything back into Ava's handbag and hastily followed Julian, the others at her heels.

Fionn said something and leaned close to one of the girls with short, choppy black hair and a nose piercing with a seductive grin that Finnegan had never seen before and that made his blood boil. As the girl laughed, Finnegan got even _more_ enraged and thought of a million reasons why he was going to kill someone that night - be it the mundanes or the faerie.

"Might I make free with your lettuce, my lady?" Mark was saying to a girl with bright pink hair and a pile of salad on her plate.

She pushed it towards him, grinning. "You're gorgeous. Even with the fake elf ears. Forget the lettuce, you can make free with my-"

"Okay, that's _enough_," Finnegan snapped, trying not to lose his composure as he snatched Fionn by the shoulder slightly possessively. "This one's taken and he's not even into girls, so let's go."

Fionn smirked and popped a tomato that he'd liberated from one of the girl's sandwiches into his mouth, weakly resisting as he allowed Finnegan to angrily drag him away.

"Oh, but does he really _want_ to go?" the black-haired girl with the nose piercing crooned.

Finnegan reeled on her. "He is, like, _three_ times your age! It was _never_ meant to be, sweetheart!"

She didn't seem deterred, giving a knowing smirk like it was some kind of joke between the three of them. She leaned her chin on her palm with her elbow resting on the table. "Well, he looks _good_ for a 60 year old."

"You have my thanks, gracious madam," Fionn said earnestly, which made Finnegan want to punch the faerie in the gut.

"All right, you've made your point, enough." Julian took Mark - who was cheerfully eating a baby carrot - by the wrist and tried to draw him towards the door alongside Finnegan. "Sorry, ladies," he said as a chorus of protests rose.

The girl with pink hair stood up. "If they want to stay, they can stay. Who are _you_, anyway?"

"I'm his brother," Julian said, motioning to Mark.

Finnegan wanted to shout '_I'm this one's _fucking boyfriend!' but he held himself back because of the swear word, the bashfulness of using the word 'boyfriend,' and the illegality of dating a faerie.

"Boy, do you two not look alike," pink-haired girl said in a way that made Finnegan want to murder the mundanes even more. "Now the cute one over _there_ I might understand," she said, motioning to Fionn, who bowed his head at being acknowledged, "but not _you_."

"They are step brothers," Fionn announced. "But they are both handsome." Finnegan pinched him but he smacked the Nephilim's hand away. "It is truth because I speak it freely," he said quietly only to Finnegan. "She called Mark gorgeous - Julian is just as gorgeous, just in a quieter, less…'flashy' way. He doesn't have Mark's sharp cheekbones are faerie charm, but he has luminous eyes and a beautiful mouth that-"

"One day I'm going to get back at you for this and you should flash back to this moment, right here and now so that you remember just how bad it was," Finnegan hissed.

Fionn laughed. "You are adorable when jealous, you must admit."

"I am _scary_ when I'm jealous. You see my face? This is my _scary_ face; this is my _pissed off_ face that should have you running for the hills, because you should know that I do not _get_ pissed off. I get depressed or sarcastic, but I do _not_ get pissed off. You have managed to do the impossible when it comes to me, and this is _no_ exception."

Fionn shrugged. "I fail to tremble at many things, dear Finnegan; _you_ are one of those things."

Fionn gave one finally challenging smirk before walking out the door and Finnegan blinked before charging out after him. "Hey! _Hey!_ You are _such_ a jerk!"

Meanwhile, Livvy made an exasperated noise, stomped forward, and seized Mark by the back of his shirt. "You don't want him," she said to the pink-haired girl. "He has syphilis."

The girl stared. "_Syphilis?_"

"Five percent of people in American have it," Ty said helpfully.

"I do not have syphilis," Mark said angrily. "There are no sexually transmitted diseases in Faerieland!"

The mundane girls fell instantly silent.

"Sorry," Julian said. "You know how syphilis is. Attacks the brain."

The table of girls were open-mouthed as Livvy hauled Mark by his shirt through the restaurant and into the parking lot, the rest of them following. The moment they were outside and the door had closed behind them, Emma burst out laughing, leaning against Cristina, who was also giggling, as Livvy let go of Mark and smoothed down her skirt, looking unruffled.

Finnegan came over from around the side of the building, running his hands through his hair and buttoning his jacket, smoothing it casually. He looked much more pleased than he had moments before.

"This will be a wonderful story to tell one day," he said when everything had been recounted through Emma's hysterical laughing. "I have a feeling Selina will react _just_ like that."

"Sorry," Emma said breathlessly. "It's just - _syphilis?_"

"Ty was reading about it today," Livvy said.

Julian, who had been trying to hide a smile, looked over at Ty. "Why have you been reading about syphilis?"

Ty shrugged. "Research."

Fionn slipped behind Finnegan, silent, graceful, and quick as a cat, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it. Finnegan gave a small, self-satisfied smirk without even looking back at the faerie behind him.

"We'll finish later," he whispered, to which Fionn nodded just slightly.

"Was that really necessary?" Mark demanded. "I was merely making conversation. I thought I would practice my genty speech on them."

"You were being ridiculous on purpose," Emma said. "I'm beginning to get the feeling you think faeries sound silly."

"I did at first," Mark said candidly. "Then you get used to it. Now…now I don't know _what_ to think." He sounded a little lost.

"We're not supposed to talk to mundanes," Julian said, his smile vanishing. "It's…it's _basic_, Mark. One of the first things we learn. _Especially_ not about things like Faerieland."

"We spoke to those mundanes, and no one exploded or caught on fire," Mark said. "No doom came down upon us. They thought we were wearing costumes." He ducked his head, then looked up at Julian. "You are right that I will stand out, but people see what they want to see."

"Maybe the rules about not going out in battle without runes are stupid rules," Ty said, and it was recalled that Mark had spoken to Ty back in the training room: '_Now we all have hurt hands_.'

"Maybe a lot of the rules are stupid rules," Julian said, and there was an edge of bitterness to his voice. "Maybe we just have to follow them anyway. Maybe that's what makes us Shadowhunters."

Livvy looked puzzled. "Having to follow stupid rules makes us Shadowhunters?"

"Pretty much," Finnegan said bluntly. Fionn was rubbing off on him.

"Not the rules," Julian corrected. "The penalty for breaking them."

"So you are ruled by fear, just as the Fair Folk," Fionn surmised.

"The penalty for breaking the rules of Faerie are just as severe, if not more so," Mark said. "You must trust me on this, Julian. If they think I am not part of the investigation, they will punish not just me, but also all of you. They do not require either of us to tell them; they will _know_." His eyes burned. "You understand me?"

"I understand, Mark. And I trust you." Julian smiled at his brother, then, unexpectedly, that smile that was all the more bright for its unpredictability. "Anyway. Everyone into the car, okay? We're heading back."

"We must return with the steed," Fionn said.

"Yes, we cannot leave him - it - here. If it were lost, the Wild Hunt would take it amiss."

"Fine," Julian said. "You two take it back. Ty and Livvy aren't getting onto it again, understood? Too dangerous."

Livvy looked disappointed, Ty relieved. Mark nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"I'll go with Mark," Cristina said suddenly.

Mark's face lit up in a way that surprised her.

"Well, I kinda portaled here with some help from Veon, so I've got no ride, so…" He snapped to point towards Fionn. "You are giving me a ride."

He left no room for debate as he sauntered away around the building to where the steeds were waiting.

"Let us fetch the steeds," Mark urged. "I find the desire to fly."

"As do I," Fionn agreed, hurrying after Finnegan.

"And go the speed limit! No reckless racing!" Julian yelled as Mark and Cristina disappeared around the side of the building.

"It's the sky, Julian," Emma said. "There isn't really a speed limit."

"I know," he said, and smiled.

**_-TTOT-_**

The moon was high and full in the sky when Mark and Fionn brought their steeds to a gentle stop in the sand behind the Institute.

Finnegan had nearly fallen asleep against Fionn, his arms wrapped right around the faerie's body and his head resting upon his shoulder. "My Hunter, we have arrived."

He groaned. "But I was _comfy~!_"

Fionn tore himself free of the Shadowhunter and dismounted, forcing Finnegan to do the same. "You look quite exhausted."

"Long day. Nothing I haven't had before. Well, guess I've never been head of an Institute before, but you know."

Fionn nodded.

According to the others, their ride into the city had been all panic: Livvy gripping on to Cristina's belt with small, worried hands, Ty telling Mark not to go too fast, the freeway disappearing under their feet. They'd nearly crashed into the Dumpster in the parking lot. The way back, meanwhile, had been quiet. Cristina had been holding Mark lightly around the waist, thinking about how close they seemed to be flying to the clouds. The city below them was an interlocking pattern of colored lights. Finnegan had always loved riding Zoltan with Fionn - feeling like he was a part of the air, buoyed up by it like a small craft on the water.

Mark slid off the cycle and held out his hand to help Cristina down after him. She took it, her eyes still full of the sight of the Santa Monica Pier below them, the bright lights of the turning Ferris wheel. She'd never felt so far away from her mother, from the Institute in Mexico City, from the Rosaleses.

She liked it.

"My lady," Mark said as her feet touched the sand.

She felt her lips curl up. "That seems so formal."

"The Courts are nothing if not formal," Fionn announced, walking up with Finnegan behind him.

"Thank you for coming back with me," Mark said to her. "You didn't have to."

"You seemed like maybe you didn't want to be alone," Cristina said.

Soft wind was blowing off the desert, moving the sand, lifting his newly cut hair away from his face. Short now, it looked like a halo, so pale blond as to be almost silver.

"You see a great deal," Mark said, his eyes studying her face.

She wondered what he had looked like when both of his eyes had been Blackthorn eyes, blue-green as the sea. She wondered if the strangeness of his eyes, now, added to his beauty.

"When no one you know tells the truth, you learn to see under the surface," she said, and thought of her mother and the yellow petals of roses.

"Yes," Mark said. "But then, I come from a place where everyone tells the truth, no matter how dreadful."

"Is that something you miss about Faerie? That there were no lies there?"

"How did you know I miss Faerie?"

"Your heart is not settled here. And I think it is more than just familiarity that draws you back. You spoke of feeling free there - but then you also said that they cut runes into your back. I am trying to understand how that can be something you could miss."

"That was the Unseelie Court, not the Wild Hunt," Fionn interjected. "The Court is a place of cruelty and misery for outsiders, but the Hunt is a place where outsiders might thrive. Gwyn himself is an outsider; he allies himself with neither Court."

"I cannot speak of what I miss," Mark said. "I cannot speak of the Hunt, not truly. It is forbidden."

"That is terrible. How can you choose if you cannot speak of your choice?"

"The world is terrible," Mark said tonelessly. "And some are drawn down into it and drown there, and some rise above and carry others with them. But not very many. Not everyone can be like Julian."

"Julian?" Cristina was startled. "But I thought perhaps you didn't even like him. I thought…"

"You thought…?" Mark prodded, arching his silvery eyebrows.

"I thought you didn't like any of us," she said sheepishly.

"Oh, come now. Even _I_ have come to be fond of you, child," Fionn said. "Julian Blackthorn is overbearing, but he means well. He has grown to raise many, he holds the burden of a large family upon his heart, and he is afraid. He is afraid of the heartbreak it will cause all his brethren should Mark be taken or perish - if he is lost once more."

Cristina felt foolish for saying it, but Mark's face softened. He reached to take her hand, brushing his own fingers along her palm. A shiver raced up her arm - the touch of his hand was like an electric current.

"I like you, Cristina Mendoza Rosales. I like you very much."

He leaned down towards her, and Finnegan shifted uncomfortably, averting his gaze. Fionn smiled, almost having forgotten that humans got bashful when it came to the romance of others. Fionn quickly frowned once more as he wondered if Kieran would accept Mark having another lover or if he would only see her as a threat.

"Mark Blackthorn."

The voice that spoke his name was sharp, clipped. Think of the faerie and he shall appear, it seems. Both Cristina and Mark whirled around, Finnegan snapped to attention with his hand at his belt where a small seraph knife was, while Fionn turned calmly. Kieran stood in front of them, as if he had simply evolved out of the black-and-white sand and sky. He looked black and white himself, his hair the color of ink, curling darkly against his temples, which showed he was not in a good mood. His silver eye glowed in the moonlight; his black eye looked pupil-less - matching Fionn's enchanted pair as well. He wore a gray tunic and trousers, and daggers at his belt. He was as inhumanly lovely as a statue.

"Kieran," Mark said, a sort of half-shocked exhale. "But, I-"

"Should have expected me," Kieran finished. He stalked forward. "You asked to borrow my steed; I lent it. The longer I go without it, the more chary Gwyn will grow. Did you hope to raise his suspicions?"

"I intended to return it," Mark said, his voice low.

"Did you?" Kieran crossed his arms over his chest.

"Cristina, go inside," Mark ordered.

He had dropped his hand and was looking at Kieran, not at her, his expression fixed.

"Mark-"

"Please. This is…if you respect my privacy, please, go inside."

"Cristina," Finnegan urged. "Go."

"What about you?"

"Trust me. I told you, I've got faerie friends."

"And he's one of them?"

"He's the brother of one of them," Finn said with a cheeky smile. "It'll be fine. I just need to tie up loose ends and I'll join you in a moment. Don't make me order you to do so, because I am still a superior."

She gave a weak smile. "Okay. Be safe."

She turned and went in through the Institute's back door, letting it bang loudly shut behind her. Finn held his ear up a moment, listening for the sound of Cristina's footsteps retreating up the stairs, if very reluctantly.

"All right then. So, you're Kieran, Fionn's brother?"

Kieran nodded stiffly - _defensively_. "I am."

"I'm Finnegan. I don't believe we've been acquainted properly, without being under the watchful gaze of those who would cause us trouble were we to speak freely. No offense but _some_ offense to Iarlath; the guy is creepy and very untrustworthy, coming from the perspective of a non-fey."

"He allied himself with Sebastian Morgenstern during the Dark War," Fionn informed him.

"Ah, that makes sense. In any case, while we have these moments of peace, I just wanted to give my greetings. We have met only once before you came to the Los Angeles Institute - though it could hardly be called meeting. I witnessed you and Mark from afar in my mission to recover a boy called Simon who was training at the Shadowhunter Academy at the time and got himself captured by some faeries. It was when Mark was informed of Helen's engagement."

Mark nodded. "I remember such an encounter. Fionn urged you to escape faerie with haste for fear of dire consequences."

Kieran's neutral face turned to a slight scowl. "You are the reason Fionn was harmed during that encounter?"

"I was responsible for my own actions, Kieran," Fionn said firmly.

"But he's right," Finn said. "I made some mistakes that day that might've saved him a lot of harm. I could've insisted Simon and Isabelle get out of there faster. I won't say that I wished Simon had never fallen into faerie, because that would mean Mark would have never learned of his sister's wellbeing and Helen would've never known that her brother wished her well."

"I quite enjoyed the experience," Fionn assured them. "Apologize not, my Hunter."

"Your…you are the Shadowhunter?"

Finn tilted his head in confusion. "_The_ Shadowhunter?"

"Fionn has long since had an affair with a Shadowhunter and many friends he visits on a regular basis. Gwyn trusts Fionn greatly, and so he may take his leave as he pleases so long as he does not press the man's benevolence."

"Ah." Finnegan nodded and turned to Fionn. "So he knew?"

"There are no secrets I hold from my brother, same as there are few secrets between you and your parabatai. We are bonded by blood - _if_ nothing else. And there is far from nothing else."

Finnegan shrugged. "Well, no changing the past even if it _was_ a problem. I know a little about you from Fionn - he always speaks of his relationship with his brother. He cares very much for you, and he wishes you well with Mark." He reached to his shirt and unbuttoned the top button, tugging on a cord before revealing his elf-bolt. "Also, he apparently stole your idea."

Kieran smiled, relaxing his tense muscles slowly but surely. "Yes, he worried over that elf-bolt for many days pondering how to present you with it. He looked truly pitiful."

"_Kieran_," Fionn protested indignantly.

Finnegan laughed. "Well, he ended up just shoving it at me unable to find the words. Long story short, a _lot_ of stuff happened that day, but I've worn it ever since. It's always warm, and it's always near my heart. Plus, it's a great weapon in an emergency."

"In accepting the gift, you proclaim your devotion to him, Nephilim."

He smiled, slipping his elf-bolt back under his shirt. He then proceeded to grab Fionn by his shirt and pull him into a kiss.

"Yes, I proclaim my devotion to him often, and I will continue to do so for as long as I breathe and beyond if possible." He turned to the Institute. "Now, I need sleep and I'm too lazy to head back to my own Institute."

"Zoltan could sweep you there in little time," Fionn said.

"I don't wanna ride the horse - no offense, Zolt!" The horse snickered from afar and stormed away. "Too tired. Anyway, you owe me from before. Do me a favor and don't let anything happen to Mark and we can leave you two alone out here."

"I would not do him harm," Kieran said defensively.

"He understands such," Fionn said. "He felt the need to verbalize his thoughts so that he could accurately claim he advocated for Mark's safety."

Kieran nodded, allowing the two of them to retreat the way Cristina had gone. They passed her in the halls, staring at the floor pensively. "Where's Mark?" she asked.

"Still finishing things up with Kieran," Finnegan said. "We're gonna turn in. You should do so too."

She nodded lightly. "I'll wait for Emma and the others to get back first."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. But you've got a long day of investigating ahead of you tomorrow, so try and get some sleep."

She nodded and the two of them left her alone. When they were properly gone down the halls, Cristina slipped back through the doors and down the stairs to the back entrance where she came from. She barely knew Mark Blackthorn, but she couldn't stop thinking about the scars on his back, of the way he had curled into a ball in his bedroom that first day, the way he had accused Julian of being a dream or a nightmare sent to haunt him by the Wild Hunt. She didn't believe in the Cold Peace, had _never_ believed in it, but Mark's pain had torn away at her beliefs. Perhaps the faeries truly _were_ that cruel. Perhaps there really was no good in them, no honor. Fionn could be considered an exception, but he was far from the rule - he wasn't like other faeries, far from it. Cristina suspected that his friendship with Finnegan was deep to say the least, but no matter how close they truly were, all that mattered was that Finnegan somehow influenced Fionn to be different. If she was right, if faeries were truly as cruel as the rumors described, how could she leave Mark out there, alone, with one of them? How could Finnegan? How could Fionn?

It was irrational. She should trust Finnegan and Fionn after everything that they'd done for the Blackthorns, but she just had to make sure. She couldn't get the image of Kieran out of her mind, holding himself high and mighty and threatening Mark.

She pushed open the door - and froze.

It took a moment for her gaze to find them, but when it did, Mark and Kieran seemed to leap out at her like the images from a lighted screen. They stood in a path of moonlight at the edge of the lot, Mark's back against one of the scrub oak trees. Kieran was leaning against him, pinning him to the tree, and they were kissing.

Cristina hesitated a moment, blood rising into her face, but it was clear Mark wasn't being touched against his will. Mark's hands were tangled in Kieran's hair, and he was kissing him as fiercely as if he were starving. Their bodies were pressed together tightly; nevertheless, Kieran clutched at Mark's waist, his hands moving restlessly, desperately, as if he could pull Mark closer still. They slid up, pushing Mark's jacket off his shoulders, stroking the skin at the edge of his collar. He made a low keening sound, like a cry of grief, deep in his throat, and broke away.

He was staring at Mark, his gaze as hungry as it was hopeless. Never had a faerie looked so human to Cristina as Kieran did then. Mark looked back at him, eyes wide, shining in the moonlight. A shared look of love and longing and terrible sadness. It was too much. It had already been too much: Cristina knew she shouldn't have been watching them but she hadn't been able to stop, mingled shock and fascination rooting her to the spot.

And desire. There was desire, too. Whether for Mark, or for both of them, or just for the idea of wanting someone so much, she wasn't sure. She moved back, her heart pounding, about to pull the door shut after her-

And the whole parking lot lit up like a stadium as a car rounded the corner and turned into it. Music blared out the windows; Cristina could hear Emma's and Julian's voices. Her gaze darted back towards Mark and Kieran, but Kieran had vanished, a shadow into shadows. Mark was bending down to pick up his jacket as Emma and the others piled out of the car. Cristina pulled the door shut. Through it she heard Emma ask Mark where she was, and Mark say that she had gone inside. He sounded casual, calm, as if nothing had happened.

But everything had happened.

She had wondered, when he'd looked in her eyes and said that he'd had to make do without mirrors in the Wild Hunt, whose eyes he'd been looking into for all those years.

Now she knew.

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**Chapter title: "_Gold_" by Britt Nicole**


	10. You're On Your Own In The Real World

**I'M SO LATE I'M SO SORRY I'VE BEEN STRESSED BY SUMMER HOMEWORK**

**Also I've been playing way too much of The Arcana because the ads finally got me interested and the ads are nothing like the gameplay but IT'S SO GOOD THE CHARACTERS THE MUSIC - ES ALL SO BEAUTIFUL**

**I've been working hard on the final ending chapters of my Shadows story and my Hidden Origins story and endings are so hard and I'm working on two at a time, I've got my summer homework which is stressful and the school year's coming up again which is sad because this is gonna be my busiest year yet and I've also been working on artwork for my stories but since I've got nothing but a pencil and paper and I didn't choose to take a drawing class like my friend recommended my art can only be so good. I'm planning on getting a new tablet/computer and a drawing pad so maybe I'll start posting actual art but art takes a lot of time and writing also takes a lot of time and AH THE FEW PEOPLE WHO READ THIS LAMENT WITH ME PLEASE~!**

**Enjoy a double update as an apology for life being sad because even this story which I'm way ahead on I'm falling behind on.**

**:)**

* * *

_The first time that Fionn Flann met Mark Blackthorn was not when Fionn had joined the Wild Hunt. Quite the contrary, it was long before that._

_ "You go by Fionn?" Gwyn had asked him._

_ "Yes. I'm afraid we are not acquainted, and yet you seem to know me."_

_ Gwyn nodded. "I don't know why you fail to recall me, but perhaps much has happened since last we met. You are not the person I once knew, simply a shadow of that person from before. In any case, you have been summoned here for your unique qualities of fire immunity. I have a job for you."_

_ Fionn worked many jobs for Gwyn for his own amusement. He desired action, a chance to prove himself to the Court that had nearly killed him because it believed he was weak and worthless. Gwyn constantly claimed to have once known Fionn in a past time, but Fionn continued to earnestly deny that he'd met Gwyn before. Fionn had requested an audience with the leader of the Hunt in an attempt to be of use and gain experience fighting._

_ During one of his jobs for the Hunt, Fionn accompanied Gwyn as he Turned his newest members. Mark Blackthorn came to the Wild Hunt when he was sixteen years old, and not because he wanted to. He remembered only darkness after he had been taken from the Institute that was his home, before he woke in underground caverns, amid lichen and dripping moss. A massive man with eyes of two different colors was standing over him, carrying a horned helmet. Mark recognized him, of course. You couldn't be a Shadowhunter and not know about the Wild Hunt. You couldn't be a half-faerie and not have read about Gwyn the Hunter, who had led the hunt for centuries. He wore a long blade of hammered metal at his waist, blackened and twisted as if it had been through many fires._

_ The other man beside him, however, Mark did not know. He assumed that he was a part of the Hunt, as he had bi-colored eyes - one a blood red, as if every Valentine in the world had been squeezed dry, distilled into one poisonous mixture. Where once a heart had been within him, now it had been pushed so far that only cruelty remained. The other eye a midnight black, looking as though he had no pupil. It was dark and empty, rather than full of rage and despair like his other. It was full of a great sadness, a melancholic scar that showed he was carrying a burden almost too much to bear. But bear it, he did. His amber hair seemed to shimmer with interest as he looked down upon Mark. This was Fionn Flann Kingson, the man before he had joined the Wild Hunt. He held a bowl of water in his hands, staring at Mark with what Mark almost believed was…pity. There was no pity in the Unseelie Court. Mark had not known it at the time, but Fionn had seen Mark before in the Court, watching the boy be beaten and demeaned as Fionn had once been so many times. Instantly, that had made Fionn sympathetic to Mark, but also the fact that he was part Nephilim - and Fionn was currently fond of his own Nephilim at the time. Mark reminded Fionn so much of Hunter, the boy that he had saved and who had broken down into tears moments after._

_ "Mark Blackthorn," Gwyn had said, "you are with the Hunt now, for your family is dead. We are your blood kin now."_

_ And drawing the sword, he sliced across his palm until he drew blood, and dripped it into the bowl of water Fionn held for Mark to drink._

_ "Drink, boy," Fionn said, his voice firm, and yet it was still somehow…gentle._

_ The pity that seeped into his voice had not gone unnoticed by anyone, even Mark, but no one said anything. Mark had only ever heard taunting and cruel voices before, not a hint of care or pity - not before Fionn. And so Mark drank that day, and his fate to the Hunt was sealed._

_ In the years to come, Mark would see others come to the Hunt, and Gwyn say the same thing to them, and watch them drink his blood. And he would watch their eyes change, splintering into two different colors as if to symbolize the division of their souls. Gwyn believed a new recruit had to be broken down to be built back up again as a Hunter, someone who could ride through the night without sleep, someone who could suffer hunger that was close to starvation and endure pain that would break a mundane. And he believed their loyalty must be unswerving. They could choose no one over the Hunt._

_ Mark would also witness Fionn Flann many times, and would learn that he was not a member of the Hunt._

_ "My eyes come from the division of my own soul, yes, but it is because I have given part of myself to another," Fionn explained to Mark. Mark had not asked, yet he listened. "My eyes were once both ruby, gleaming with mirth. But those eyes were lost to me long ago. Now, one eye belongs to my brother through a blood-bond. I will serve him above all else, I will ensure his safety, I will defend him and all he cares for, and I will give everything I am for him. You may wonder why I have done such a thing. It is because I have nothing to live for beyond him. He is the only reason I live today, and as such, my life is his to serve. Once, I was given the choice to save either myself or his mother. I chose myself because I felt I would best serve my brother in this harsh world. But in turn, I doomed him to grow without a mother. And so, my reasoning that I would best serve him, has come to fruition - I will serve him forever, and no one in this world or any other shall change that. I have not given my loyalties to Gwyn, for I am loyal only to my brother, but it appears as if he and I are former acquaintances of a time I fail to recall. I wish for him to make me stronger, and so I ride with the Hunt often. But I will always be loyal to my brother above all else."_

_ Mark gave his loyalty to Gwyn, and his service, but he did not make friends among the Wild Hunt. They were not Shadowhunters, and he was a Shadowhunter. The others were all of the faerie Courts - even Fionn Flann - pressed into service with the Hunt as punishment or in Fionn's case, his own desire to be pushed beyond his limits in an attempt to be strong enough to protect the brother he so dearly cared for. In a way, perhaps he considered his time with the Hunt recompense for choosing himself over his mother. The true members of the Hunt did not like the fact that Mark was Nephilim, and he felt their scorn and scorned them in turn. He rode through the nights alone, on a silver mare given to him by Gwyn. Gwyn seemed, perversely, to like him, perhaps to spite the others of the Hunt, perhaps because Fionn had put in good word to Gwyn about Mark in order to aid him. Fionn felt a debt to Mark because of Hunter, a desire to protect the boy of Nephilim blood._

_ Gwyn taught Mark and Fionn together how to navigate by the stars and listen for the sounds of a battle that might echo through hundreds, even thousands of miles: cries of anger and the shouts of the dying. They would ride to the field of battle and, invisible to mundane eyes, divest the dead bodies of precious things. Most of them were paid in tribute to the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, but some Gwyn kept for himself._

_ Mark slept alone, every night, on the cold ground, wrapped in a blanket, a stone for his pillow. When it was cold, he shivered, and dreamed of runes that would warm him, of the hot blaze of seraph blades. In his pocket he kept the witchlight rune-stone Jace Herondale had given him, though he dared not light it except when he was alone. Each night, as he fell asleep, he recited the names of his sisters and brothers, in order of age. Each word was weighted like an anchor, cleaving him to the earth. Keeping him alive. He had never known that sometimes Fionn would be sitting near him as he recited those names (to Mark's knowledge or not, he wasn't sure, but Mark never acknowledged him, so he continued to do as he pleased), wondering who they were and if Hunter knew them._

_ Helen. Julian. Tiberius. Livia. Drusilla. Octavian._

_ The days blurred into months. Time was not like it was in the mundane world. Mark had given up counting days - there was no way to mark them down, and Gwyn hated such things. Therefore, he had no idea how long he had been with the Hunt when Kieran came._

_ He had known they were getting a pair of new Hunters; gossip spread quickly, and besides, Gwyn always Turned the newest of them in the same place: a cavern near to the entrance of the Unseelie Court, where the walls were thickly carpeted in emerald lichen and a small natural pool welled among the rocks._

_ They found the two of them there when they arrived, left for Gwyn to discover. Mark first saw Fionn Flann, kneeling beside another figure silently, but he turned and bowed his head towards Gwyn when they arrived. At first, the only thing about the second figure he could see was the outline of a boy with a tangle of black hair and a slender body, the chains binding his wrists and ankles pulling it into a strange torsion. He appeared to be all bones and angles._

_ "Prince Kieran, Prince Fionn Flann," Gwyn said as he approached the pair, and a murmur ran through the Hunt._

_ If the newcomers were princes, they were more exalted than a faerie gentry. And what could a prince have done to get himself so brutally exiled from the Court, cut off from family and name, kith and kin? Mark had never known that Fionn Flann was a prince, and he felt a small bit of relief knowing that he had befriended the prince rather than made him an enemy, for he was trained by Gwyn long before he had officially joined the Hunt. Meaning this boy beside him was his brother - the brother that he had dedicated himself to so fully that his eye had been changed from the strength of the oath he had taken. Seeing as Kieran was chained and Fionn was free, Mark made the assumption that Kieran had been exiled and Fionn had simply followed his brother. He would do so, he had told Mark: follow his brother wherever he may go._

_ The boy, Kieran, lifted his head when Gwyn came to him, revealing his face. He was certainly gentry. He had their strange, luminous, almost inhumanly beautiful features, high-cheekboned and black-eyed. He was no doubt Fionn's brother based on those facts alone - perhaps not simply as just a son of the Unseelie King, but perhaps in their mother as well. But beyond their facial structure and the black eyes, the two contrasted each other heavily. Kieran's hair had a sheen to it of blue and green among the black, the color of the ocean at night, while Fionn's hair shimmered a pulsing red like lava that had just begun to cool._

_ Kieran turned his face away when Gwyn tried to press the water on him, mixed with blood, but Fionn took the bowl and forced it down his throat with a light warning hissed quietly from his lips. Though to one it might have seemed like there was no love between the brothers, a close observer would see otherwise. Fionn came to the Hunt willingly for Kieran's sake, he had made Kieran drink to avoid Gwyn's wrath, and he defended Kieran from there on no matter how much pain he had to endure. Mark watched in fascination as Kieran's right eye turned from black to silver, and the chains were removed by Fionn from his lacerated wrists and ankles. Fionn took his turn, proudly drinking the mix of water and Gwyn' blood and widening his eyes to show as his ruby eye shimmered and changed to become silver to match his brother's - a sign of his complete dedication to his brother. He was no longer just connected to his brother; he had given his entire life to Kieran. He was a reflection of Kieran, a tool to protect Kieran no differently than his immune system might - there was no way to simply stop him from helping, no matter how Kieran might protest. Though perhaps, one day, Fionn's protectiveness would become cancerous._

_ "You are of the Hunt now," Gwyn said with a grimness that was unusual. "Rise and join us."_

_ Kieran was a strange addition to the group. Though his rank as a prince had been stripped from him when he was exiled to the Hunt, he still carried an indefinable air of arrogance and royalty with him, which did not sit well with the others. They mocked him, called him "princeling," and would have down worse if both Fionn and Gwyn had not stayed their hands. Fionn had flat out punched anyone who had dared open their foul mouths against Kieran - Mark watched as he calmly beat a man near to death for laying a hand on Kieran, and after that, they reserved themselves to only verbal abuse. Even then, when one called Kieran a "princeling" in a mocking tone, Fionn kicked the man between the legs and while he fell and writhed, Fionn then handed the torch over to Kieran, so to speak. He urged the boy to take his revenge, and when given permission, Kieran did so with a deep and built up fury._

_ Each time that Fionn overstepped his bounds, he took his punishment with almost an eagerness. The pain of whippings seemed to make him feel alive - once, he even began to laugh harder and harder with every crack of the whip. But if Kieran was sentenced to punishment, he either took the punishment for himself almost desperately or he insisted on disciplining his brother himself. No one would harm Kieran but Fionn, and in a way, that was Fionn's way of showing his love. Fionn even did something similar for Mark. He made sure that he was the one to punish the half-fey and warded off those who would taunt him - less frequently and more subtly than with Kieran, but the sentiment was there, nonetheless. Mark would not understand why Fionn had shown him care that he only reserved for his brother, why Fionn had told him his story and why he had taken notice of and became fond of the half-breed. He would not know it until Kieran whispered to him in the night that Fionn was rumored to have a Shadowhunter he cared for deeply, one that he frequently visited during his hunts when he could take leave from the rest of the Wild Hunt._

_ Yet before that night would come, he could not help but watch Kieran from afar. Something about Kieran fascinated him. He soon learned that both of the princes' hair changed color depending on their moods. Kieran's went from night black (when he was despairing) to pale blue (when he laughed, which was not often) - always colors of the sea. Fionn's, meanwhile, went from black when his mood was low just as Kieran's, but it then went through the shades of red, like the colors of fire or lava, not only brightening in shade but illuminating as though it were fluorescent._

_ Kieran's hair was thick and curling and sometimes Mark wanted to touch it and see if it felt like hair or something else, shot silk, a fabric that changed color in the light. Kieran rode his horse - given to him by Gwyn; it was the fiercest Mark had ever seen, black and skeletal, a mount of the dead - as if he were born to it. Like Mark, he seemed determined to ride out the pain of exile and friendlessness alone, rarely speaking to the others of the Hunt, rarely even glancing at them. He had his brother, yes, but Fionn respected Kieran's desire to only interact when absolutely necessary. The two had a silent conversations, Kieran knew and appreciated everything Fionn did and would do for him, but though they were alive, they were living lives with no purposes. Kieran had no goals, no hopes, nor dreams. He came from a world that abhorred him enough to exile him from the Hunt simply because he was beloved by the Court more than his other brothers (or so the rumors had said) and he would rather stay in the Hunt than go back. But Kieran had nowhere else he desired to go beyond the Hunt, and if he had no goals, neither did Fionn._

_ But Kieran looked at Mark sometimes, when the others called him Nephilim and Shadow-spawn and angel-boy and other names much worse. Fionn came to Mark's defense in a similar way to Kieran, glaring at those who opened their mouths with such foul language, but Fionn never raised a fist in Mark's defense - not unless the fight was started by another who threw the first blow. Fionn was not obligated to assist Mark as selflessly as he was with Kieran, he had not gained permission to do so. Yet._

_ A day came when news spread that the Clave had hanged a group of faeries in Idris for treason. The faeries had friends among the Hunt, and, in rage, Mark's fellows demanded that Mark kneel and say the words "I am not a Shadowhunter."_

_ "Do not say it," Fionn had snapped._

_ He never raised his voice so loud in Mark's defense, but the harshness in his tone had almost made it feel like Mark saying those words would personally offend Fionn rather than simply demean Mark. But Mark never planned to do so in the first place. When he had refused, they stripped Mark's shirt from his body and whipped him bloody. They left him crumpled under a tree in a snowy field, his blood turning the white flakes to red. Fionn did not raise his fists for Mark that day, he had not moved a muscle until all of the other Hunt members that left. Then, just as Mark lost consciousness, he thought he witnessed as Fionn stepped towards him and kneeled down with soft words - softer words than Mark had ever heard from the faerie._

_ "Do not give in now, Miach. You are stronger than this. I have seen it within you: the fire of life, burning eternal, a fire that cannot be quenched no matter the squall that threatens it."_

_ When he woke there was firelight and warmth, and he was lying in someone's lap. Only groggily did he come to enough consciousness to realize that it was Kieran's. Kieran lifted him in his arms and gave him water and folded a blanket around his shoulders. His touch was gentle and light. Fionn was tending to a fire silently, almost as still as a statue as he reached within the flames with his bare hands and moved around the firewood._

_ "I believe among your people," Kieran said, "there are healing runes."_

_ "Yes," Mark said in a croak, moving only very slightly. Pain from his lacerated skin jolted through him. "They're called iratzes. One would mend these injuries for me. But they cannot be made without a stele, and my stele was broken in years past."_

_ "That is a pity," Kieran said. "I believe your skin will be scarred forevermore."_

_ "What care I?" Mark said, listless. "It is not as if it matters much, here in the Hunt, whether I am beautiful."_

_ Kieran gave a secret half smile at that and touched Mark's hair lightly. Mark closed his eyes. It had been years since anyone had touched him, and the feeling sent shivers down through his body despite the pain of the cuts. After that, when they rode out, they rode together. Kieran made of the Hunt an adventure for the two of them. He showed Mark wonders that only the Fair Folk knew of: sheets of ice lying silent and silver under the moonlight, and hidden glens, blooming with night flowers. They rode among the spray of waterfalls and amid the towers of clouds. And Mark was, if not happy, no longer tortured by loneliness._

_ Mark was still ever wary of Kieran's brother, who rarely interacted with Mark yet always had his eyes on the half-breed. There wasn't hostility in his eyes, but there was enough to instill unease in Mark's heart. But when Kieran faced even the slightest hint of danger, Fionn was there. Once, a creature had appeared from the depths of a forest they rode through, Mark behind Kieran upon the latter's steed. Mark couldn't tell you what it was, because it had aimed for Kieran. Fionn was there before Kieran could fully draw any weapon, slicing the creature in half with his Io and burning its remains with a passion. He did all this without showing a hint of anger towards the monster, as though it was simply routine to destroy with such vigor. Covered in the creature's moss-green innards, Fionn had stared at Mark with his bi-colored eyes that so heavily resembled Kieran's. Without a word, he ran his hand across his face and burned away the remains of the creature, never breaking eye contact with the half-Shadowhunter. Then, Fionn had walked away, and yet without words, Mark had understood the message: 'I will protect you as I protect my brother, but if you do not repay my benevolence, you will hold a great debt, half-blood.'_

_ Mark did not know how he could repay Fionn for a debt he never asked for, but as he attempted to back off from Kieran in the hopes he would prevent his relationship with Fionn from growing worse, that was when Fionn had first spoken to him personally - fully conscious, more than a simple murmur. Fionn grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him up against a tree, and Mark readied himself for the torments that one of the greatest fighters of the Hunt would inflict upon him. Instead, Fionn had simply spoken and made no move to raise fist or weapon alike._

_ "If you care at all for Kieran you will stay with him," Fionn growled. "He has nothing but you who gives him any semblance of love in this world. If you are to abandon him, you will face my wrath, Blackthorn child."_

_ That was when Mark had understood. He repaid his debt to Fionn by being Kieran's friend - two outcasts in a place they didn't volunteer to be in, having done nothing to deserve such an exile except exist. Unable to flee, unable to find any solace, the chance at having a friend offered more than either of them could've ever hoped for. And Fionn would not let Kieran lose the only peace he had left. Mark would not be so bold as to consider Fionn a friend, but at the very least, he seemed to have earned the faerie's respect, and that was good enough for Mark._

_ So Mark agreed to remain beside Kieran as a comrade, a loyal ally, and even a friend. At night they slept curled together under Kieran's blanket, made of a thickly woven material that was always warm. One night they stopped on a hilltop, in a place green and north. There was a cairn of stones crowning the hill, something built by mundanes a thousand years back. Mark leaned against the side of it and looked out over the green country, silvering the dark, to the distant sea. The sea, everywhere, he thought, was the same, the same sea that broke against the shores in the place he still thought of as home._

_ "Your scars have healed," Kieran said, touching one of his light, slender fingers to a torn place in Mark's shirt where the skin showed through._

_ "But they are still ugly," Mark said._

_ He was waiting for the first stars to come out, so he could name his family on them. He didn't see Kieran draw closer until the other boy was opposite him, his face elegantly shadowed in the twilight._

_ "Nothing about you is ugly," Kieran said._

_ He leaned in to kiss Mark and Mark, after a moment of surprise, turned his face up and met Kieran's lips with his. It was the first time he had ever been kissed, and he had never thought it would be by a boy, but he was glad it was Kieran. He had never expected a kiss to be so agonizing and pleasurable at the same time. He had wanted to touch Kieran's hair for months and now he did, burying his fingers in the strands, which were turning from black to blue edged with gold. They felt like licks of flame against his skin._

_ They curled up under the blanket together that night, but they got little sleep, and Mark forgot to number the names of his family on the stars - for that night and most nights after. The first night he woke to find that Kieran's blanket was beneath them while another's was above them - Fionn's. Mark felt hot shame the next time he saw Fionn, realizing that Kieran's brother had to have found them, but when Kieran spoke to Fionn, the two bantered normally as ever. Mark reminded himself that faeries did things differently when it came to romance, and Fionn only gave Mark a small smile before returning to their normal…relationship, if that was what it could be considered. With a small nod, Fionn - in a rare bashfully human self no one had ever seen before - had told Mark that he approved of his relationship with Kieran and what it had developed into. Mark would question how Fionn had learned to interact in an almost…_human_ way, but the thought left his mind when he dismissed it as paranoid thinking. All he needed to know was that Fionn would not impede Mark and Kieran's relationship. Soon Mark grew used to waking with his arm thrown over Kieran's body or his hand tangled in blue-white curls._

_ He learned that kisses and touches and professions of love could make you forget, and that the more he was with Kieran, the more he wanted to be with him and not with anyone else. He lived for the time they were alone together, or when Fionn was gracious enough to volunteer to keep eye on them before leaving them to themselves while staying close enough to keep his word. Usually their time was at night, whispering so no one could overhear them._

_ "Tell me of the Unseelie Court," Mark would say, and Kieran would murmur tales of the dark Court and the pale King, his father, who ruled over it._

_ And "Tell me of the Nephilim," Kieran would say, and Mark would speak of the Angel, and of the Dark War and what happened to him, and of his brothers and sisters._

_ "You don't hate me?" Mark asked, lying in Kieran's arms, somewhere in a high Alpine meadow. His unkempt blond hair brushed against Kieran's shoulder as he turned his head. "For being Nephilim? The others do."_

_ "You need not be Nephilim anymore. You could choose to be of the Wild Hunt. Embrace your faerie nature."_

_ Mark shook his head. "When they beat me for saying I was a Shadowhunter, it only made me more sure. I know what I am even if I cannot say it."_

_ "You can say it only to me," Kieran said, his long fingers ghosting across Mark's cheek. "Here in this space between us. It is safe."_

_ So Mark pressed up against his lover and only friend and whispered into the space between them, where his cold body pressed against Kieran's warm one. "I am a Shadowhunter. I am a Shadowhunter. I am a Shadowhunter."_

* * *

"There. Very human."

"I thank you, Finnegan."

"No problem, Mark. Anything to get away from the nightmare that is paperwork. Did you know that every Shadowhunter has to report so much as a missing stele that falls out of their pocket so that they can have it properly replaced in their name? I've never lost my stele before since it was given to me by my mom and I treasured it, but I've gotten like five reports and the morning hasn't even properly _begun_."

Mark gave a snicker. "Yes, that is a problem for the Head, I suppose."

"Luckily we don't have a lot of people at our Institute or I'd never get a break with the amount of steles we replace. And don't even get me started on the throwing knives. I get that people can't warp like I can, but seriously, man, just pick up the damn things when you've defeated the enemy."

Mark gave another chuckle. "Will you be accompanying us this evening?"

"If we can make it. Luckily, having a parabatai helps when you're head of an Institute, so we should be done by 6. I'll have to borrow someone's tux if I want to be semi-formal though. I've never been very semi-formal in my entire life."

"Would this garb you have chosen be appropriately semi-formal?"

Finn shook his head. "_Definitely_ not."

Mark was dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt, very simple clothes in the long run, but they made him look worlds more different than he was before. With his new short hair, in the daylight, he looked astonishingly different from the ragged feral boy who'd pushed back his hood in the Sanctuary.

"Anyway, I thought Julian wasn't going to allow you to go?"

Mark shrugged. "Fionn and I may be persuasive should we desire to be so."

Finn looked over to the mentioned faerie sitting in the corner of the room on Finn's bed. Mark had come in as the sun rose - far too early in Finn's opinion, but Fionn was already up at that point, so he had no choice but to rouse - asking for aid in dressing for the day to impress his siblings. Of course, Finnegan was no fashion expert, so he had simply grabbed some clothes that might fit Mark and tried them on. He had helped brush Mark's freshly cut hair and then cleaned up his face with a washcloth. Fionn shifted uncomfortably at the scene but said nothing, causing Finnegan to let out a small chuckle that earned him a pillow to the face. Mark could only laugh at the pair's interaction before Finn finished cleaning him up for the day.

"I guess you don't have to shave since you're half faerie." He sighed. "That's _one_ thing that makes me jealous."

He considered a jacket or some kind of shoes, but for now, there was no harm in leaving Mark barefoot. After all, it seemed that even Fionn was averse to footwear, so it must be a faerie thing. Or a faerie of the Wild Hunt thing. Then again, Fionn had once told him that he'd never worn footwear of _any_ kind _ever_ before in his life - which couldn't be an exaggeration since he was a faerie and all.

"Well at least Julian's opening up to you more. What's _your_ plan for getting an outfit?"

Mark beamed. "Tiberius and Livia decreed their aid in my formal attire."

Finn chuckled. "I'm sure they're eager to help you. It's kinda fun to introduce someone to the human world."

"The hour for break-fast approaches. Let us be off to the meal of greatest import!"

He hurried out the door and Finn chuckled. "He really _does_ think you all talk funny."

"Our speech is very unique," Fionn agreed.

Finn plopped down on the edge of the bed. "You can borrow some of my clothes if you need a change. And if Mark is going tonight, you're going to want some formal wear as well. You can't wear the same clothes forever while you're here."

"My garments are woven with magic and enchantments to be worn for battle and casual affairs. Though my formal wear of the Unseelie Court has been left home in my chambers of the Court long since departed."

Imagining Fionn in formal wear of the Court gave Finnegan shivers for some reason.

"Oh, just get dressed for breakfast, you big lug. We'll figure something out for both of us. Maybe we can ask Ty and Livvy to get _us_ some assistance as well. Now hurry up. We're supposed to be the responsible adults looking after a horde of children."

**_-TTOT-_**

When Finnegan returned from his morning jog, just in time for breakfast, Emma hadn't returned yet for hers. Breakfast with the Blackthorns was a party as always, with a warm air of normalcy despite the current circumstances. Julian seemed to have a pre-made plan for everyone while Cristina and Finnegan just requested whatever Julian recommended and Mark and Fionn deliberated on what might be faerie-safe foods that they were used to. After all, too big a change in diet too quickly could make them sick. Or at least, that's what Finnegan assumed.

By the time Emma finally returned, breakfast was over and only Finnegan, Fionn, Mark, and Julian remained - Julian by the sink, cleaning up the remains of breakfast. Mark and Fionn stood leaning against the kitchen island, chatting in low tones. Finnegan had a feeling that this was the first time they'd ever been able to have such a casual conversation.

"I believed you hated me," Mark was saying.

"Not hate. Feared. I feared you would become so valuable that I would be pained upon your loss. And my brother would be ravaged - one way or another."

Mark blinked before a smile formed on his lips. "You have learned more human slang than I had previously assumed."

Finnegan was still staring at Fionn. Finnegan had left the faerie with some of his clothes to choose from, and a few minutes later he'd come down in blue jeans and a black shirt. It wasn't as comfortable as his Wild Hunt clothes because it was foreign material on his person and Finnegan was slightly shorter but more muscular so the clothes were a bit baggy. Of course they weren't in combat at the moment, so he figured that it would be okay to wear the clothes for the moment. And his Io would remain on his person no matter what as a gauntlet, he could summon his hounds and his horse with a simple whistle, and the belt loops were excellent for some smaller weapons. He didn't like having pants much longer than his knees, but at least his ankles were exposed since the jeans were a bit short. He, of course, refused to put on any socks or shoes.

And Finnegan had been unable to take his eyes off of Fionn's new look.

"Why must Nephilim insist upon naught but black?" Fionn asked. "My preference is a fiery red."

Finnegan blinked. "Have I never taught you the rhyme before? I mean, I must not have, since you'd remember it if I did.

'_Black for hunting through the night_,  
_For death and mourning, the color is white_.  
_Gold for a bride in her wedding gown_,  
_And red to call enchantment down_.  
_White silk when our bodies burn_,  
_Blue banners when the lost return_.  
_Flame for the birth of a Nephilim_,  
_And to wash away our sins_.  
_Gray for knowledge best untold_,  
_Bone for those who don't grow old_.  
_Saffron lights the victory march_,  
_Green will mend our broken hearts_.  
_Silver for the demon towers_,  
_And bronze to summon wicked powers_.'"

Fionn looked to the side in thought. "I know of that poem, dear Finnegan. Blue banners, as Arthur Blackthorn said: for when the lost return. He spoke these words upon the sight of Mark's return."

"Don't get any ideas, all right? Knowing you, you'd connect every possible color I listed to something in our lives and make a collage."

"I will not make a collage," Fionn said with a smirk.

"Or a painting. Or a sculpture. Or a drink. Or an article of clothing. Or an elf-bolt. Have I missed anything?"

"Is it in my best interests to tell you if you have missed anything?"

"Probably."

"I believe that to be false."

"I have a knife."

"I have a horse."

"I have a stele."

"As do I."

"I have a witchlight and a sensor."

"I have two hounds of truth called Aurum and Argentum. I have an Io. As well as the blessings of the gods. I could continue."

Finegan whacked him on the arm, dropping his dishes on the counter next to the sink for Julian. "Stop being cute."

"Cease designating me as such. I am still a superior fighter."

"We have a date in the sparring room later."

"I am in foreign garments. You must be the same. You will wear my outfit."

"What weapons will we have?"

"Your normal arsenal. As will I. Our only hindrance shall be our exchanged clothes."

"Deal."

Mark and Julian shared a glance at either of them before looking to each other and then laughing with a matching snicker of brothers and returning to their tasks.

That was when Emma returned from her extra long run on the beach, having missed breakfast. Instead, she grabbed a bottled smoothie out of the refrigerator. As she turned around, Mark was grinning at her, excited to tell her the news.

"As I understand it, what I am currently wearing is not semi-formal enough for the performance tonight?" he inquired.

Emma glanced from him to Julian. "So Mr. Rules unbent and decided you could come tonight?"

Julian gave a fluid shrug. "I'm a reasonable man."

"And Fionn is a persuasive faerie," Finnegan guessed.

"You would win few arguments should I give my full effort each time, my Hunter."

Finnegan, ever the mature adult, stuck out his tongue. Of course, they both knew Fionn was right. One kiss and Finnegan's defenses would be breached since Fionn was still far more experienced. It was a bad weakness, but one Finnegan wasn't eager to remedy just yet.

"Ty and Livvy have promised to help me find something to wear," Mark said. "As well as Fionn and Finnegan have been offered Selina's aid as well. Come, let us make haste."

He pulled Finnegan and Fionn with either of his arms and Finnegan was surprised by Mark's strength contrasting what his physical body would suggest. He knew he shouldn't _really_ be surprised by it, but hey, there was only so much his brain could comprehend at once. Together they were taken through the kitchen door to head to find Livvy and Ty who had most likely rendezvoused with Selina. As they walked, Finnegan pulled out his phone and saw that Selina had indeed sent a text in all caps saying that the paperwork for today was done so far and they'd only have to tackle anything that came in today if it was an emergency.

"Don't trust them" Julian called after them. "Don't-" He shook his head as the door closed. "Guess he'll have to learn on his own."

**_-TTOT-_**

"Oh! Just in time! Hey, we think we've gotten to translating a poem from the cave pictures! Can your faerie boy take a look, Finnegan?"

"I am a man, Livia Blackthorn," Fionn argued. "I am many decades old. Far from a boy, as you say."

Fionn moved to take the papers Livvy had offered all the same. He didn't like trying to tap into his Astral side, but it was the only thing that would allow him to translate these runes. There was still this lightheaded feeling, like his consciousness was floating away. There was a heavy temptation to just let go, and at the same time, he knew that he couldn't. That knowledge that he couldn't, however, wasn't strong enough to resist if he attempted to utilize his Astral side too often. It was like staying up for three days straight and trying to resist sleep while lying in a comfortable bed, warm under blankets with pillows.

Luckily this wasn't as difficult to translate as the runes of Faerie that had been given to Malcolm Fade and Lock for assistance. In fact, he wondered why he hadn't been consulted beforehand. He took the original pictures of the cave and then the paper with the markings copied all in order at once. The transcript stayed in Ty's hands as Fionn made his own translation.

"_But our love it was stronger by far than the love_  
_Of those who were older than we_-  
_Of many far wiser than we_-  
_And neither the angels in Heaven above_  
_Nor the demons down under the sea_  
_Can ever dissever my soul from the soul_  
_Of the beautiful Annabel Lee_…"

"This is 'Annabel Lee,' by Edgar Allan Poe," Fionn announced.

"How do _you_ know about it?" Livvy asked.

"I once had much time on my hands as a child, and I have a warlock that gives me much literature I am fond of. I am an avid reader of both human and faerie texts."

"We need to go show Emma and Jules! They wanted an update as soon as we got anything!"

Fionn nodded, taking that like a mission, and rushed ahead back to the kitchen.

"You said there was an emergency?" Julian was asking.

"A fashion emergency - Cristina needs a dress to blend in tonight, and there's literally nothing in the house," Emma explained, glancing at her watch. "It should take us thirty minutes tops."

"Hidden Treasures?"

That was Emma's favorite vintage store, well known to the family. Every time she went she picked things up for the Blackthorn family: a bow tie for Tavvy, a flowered headband for Livvy, an old horror movie poster for Dru, etc.

"Yep. Do you want anything?"

"I've always kind of wanted a Batman clock that says 'WAKE UP, BOY WONDER!' when it goes off. It would liven things up in my room."

"We've got it!" Livvy announced, bounding into the kitchen with Fionn beside her. "Well, some of it, anyway. But it's weird."

Emma turned to her with relief. "Got what?"

"In English, Livvy," Julian said. "What's weird?"

"We translated some of the lines in the cave," Ty continued, trailing on Livvy's heels. He was wearing an oversized gray hooded sweater that swallowed up his hands. His dark hair spilled over the edge of the hood. "But they don't make sense."

"Are they a message?" Emma asked.

"Perhaps they could be interpreted as such," Fionn admitted. "But they might easily be simplified as an excerpt of a poem."

He handed over the papers and Ty contributed his transcript. Emma and Julian both read the lines together, their eyes moving at the same speed with parabatai swiftness.

"We know the poem is 'Annabel Lee' by Edgar Allan Poe," Finnegan said. "I'm a fan of Poe myself."

"What we _don't_ know is why it was written on the walls of the cave," Livvy finished.

"I thought maybe it was a book cipher," Ty said. "But that would mean there was a second half of it. Something in another location, maybe. Might be worth checking with Malcolm."

"Which reminds me," Finnegan said. "Veon hasn't been in touch and Selina said that he was burying himself in work last she saw. I should give him a call. If investigating this stuff has negative effects when you figure it out, best to make sure Malcolm is warned."

"We'll add these to the list," Julian said.

Cristina stuck her head in through the kitchen door. "Emma? Are you ready to go?"

"You look worried," Livvy said. "Is Emma taking you somewhere to kill you?"

"Worse," Emma said, heading over to join Cristina at the door. "Shopping."

"For tonight? First, I am _so_ jealous, and second, don't let her take you to that place in Topanga Canyon-"

"That's enough!" Emma clapped her hands over Cristina's ears. "Don't listen to her. She's lost her mind from all that code-breaking."

The door was fully pushed open as Selina sauntered through, pushing past Emma and Cristina and locking her eyes on Finnegan and Fionn with an evil smile that had Finnegan saying, "Oh no."

"Hello my movers and shakers! Guess who gets to take the boys shopping?!"

Finnegan's eyes widened. "You are _not_ taking me _shopping_, Selina. And especially _not_ with Fionn!"

"Um, Finn, have you _seen_ your closet back at the Institute?"

"Your disguising capabilities are lacking, and mine are far inferior to even yours, Finnegan," Fionn admitted. "I would enjoy a chance to choose clothes for my discretion in this world."

"You'd have to wear shoes, Fionn," Finnegan warned. "And probably socks with them."

Fionn's nose crinkled. "Your undergarment called 'socks' are ineffective and suffocating to the skin. Yet I might endure simple shoes should they suit me. If none are found, I will simply make do with a glamour."

"You can glamour on shoes?" Emma asked. "Where do you learn _that_ in the Hunt?"

"Not within the Wild Hunt, Emma Carstairs. I am simply adept at small glamours from my training in the Court as a child."

"Says the guy who's not very magically adept," Finnegan pointed out.

"I advance with time as any other training might beget."

"Hey, don't change the subject!" Selina interjected. "We're going shopping and that's that. With Merida not here, I have to make up for her absence by being twice as enthusiastic, so let's do this thing!"

"Do you even know where we're going?" Finnegan sighed.

Selina blinked. "Well…I don't know. The nearest mall?"

"You can come to Hidden Treasures with us!" Emma interjected.

"What's that?"

"It's my favorite vintage store. Nice and close by for short notice, and it's where we get everything for the family."

"Good enough for me! Onwards, to victory!"

Selina pointed out the door to the kitchen and marched away.

Finnegan sighed and moved to follow after. "If you weren't my parabatai, I'd kill you, Seels."

"You love me!" she called.

Fionn shook his head. "The antics of humans."

"I guess we'll be going now," Emma said. "I mean, it's not like she knows how to get there without me."

"Pick me up some cuff links," Julian called, heading back towards the sink.

"What color?" Emma asked, pausing halfway out the door with Cristina.

"I don't care as long as they hold my cuffs together. Otherwise they'll be sad and unlinked. And get back as quick as you can."

**_-TTOT-_**

"_It was many and many a year ago_,  
_In a kingdom by the sea_,  
_That a maiden there lived whom you may know_  
_By the name of Annabel Lee_;  
_And this maiden she lived with no other thought_  
_Than to love and be loved by me_.

"_I was a child and she was a child_,  
_In this kingdom by the sea_,  
_But we loved with a love that was more than love_-  
_I and my Annabel Lee_-  
_With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven_  
_Coveted her and me_.

"_And this was the reason that, long ago_,  
_In this kingdom by the sea_,  
_A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling_  
_My beautiful Annabel Lee_;  
_So that her highborn kinsmen came_  
_And bore her away from me_,  
_To shut her up in a sepulchre_  
_In this kingdom by the sea_.

"_The angels, not half so happy in Heaven_,  
_Went envying her and me_-  
_Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know_,  
_In this kingdom by the sea)_  
_That the wind came out of the cloud by night_,  
_Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee_.

"_But our love it was stronger by far than the love_  
_Of those who were older than we_-  
_Of many far wiser than we_-  
_And neither the angels in Heaven above_  
_Nor the demons down under the sea_  
_Can ever dissever my soul from the soul_  
_Of the beautiful Annabel Lee_;

"_For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams_  
_Of the beautiful Annabel Lee_;  
_And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes_  
_Of the beautiful Annabel Lee_;  
_And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side_  
_Of my darling - my darling - my life and my bride_,  
_In her sepulchre there by the sea_-  
_In her tomb by the sounding sea_."

"That was brilliant."

Finnegan jumped, realizing that Fionn was in the backseat of the car. Selina was in the passenger seat, and he was used to her presence - as comfortable as being in silence with himself. And that was why thinking of the poem 'Annabel Lee' had caused him to start humming and then eventually singing a tune to the beat of the poem like he would with any poem he enjoyed.

Selina was hardly even listening, but he knew that she was taking in every word and enjoyed his tune. It was something that she didn't make fun of him for, his music. Even before they were parabatai, he had always loved her for how she knew what his tunes meant to him. They were his escape from reality when things were boring or overwhelming.

But Fionn rarely heard Finnegan sing when he hadn't prepared for it.

Fionn stuck his head into the front seat and leaned close to Finnegan's ear so that only he could hear. "You should sing from your heart more often. I find it very enticing."

Finnegan blushed and gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Shut up. You should have your seat belt on."

Fionn laughed and retreated to the back seat once more. "I trust in your skills, my Hunter."

"Gee, thanks."

A phone went off, but Finn didn't even have time to contemplate if it was his since Selina snatched up her phone and checked the caller for a split second before answering. "Hello? Val?"

"Who's Val?" Finn asked. "New girlfriend?"

"Hush, Finn. She's the warlock I left with Lock. Val, what's going on?"

"_Easy, easy, nothing to get so worked up about,_" a woman's voice over the phone said. "_I'm just calling to say that I think I've figured out the problem with Veon._"

"What is it?"

"_He keeps talking about Malcolm, but his memories have been taken - presumably by said warlock. But on top of that, Malcolm seems to have put on a spell that prevents Veon from wanting to go near him. It's slightly broken Ve's sanity with the hole in his memory that was left, poor thing._"

"Does it have anything to do with those runes he was translating?"

"_Yes. Listen to me, Veon's past is complicated and a lot more complex than he lets on. Long story short, he's got another personality locked away in there._"

"What? Like a split personality?"

"_No. Look, this is something that's really his to share, but long story short he was born with some special things done to him that makes him a little more demonic than regular warlocks. Reading these runes started to make his demon side…get a little eager. But normally he'd be able to handle that with little more than a migraine. There's something else - a memory of his that was taken away a long time ago. It was about someone important. Someone called 'Dearil.' From what I can gather, delving into his memories, she seemed to have been a daughter of his. He seems to believe that Malcolm was the one who took away Dearil, or at least his memories of her._"

"And was he?"

"_I'm looking into it now with my servants. But I think that it's highly likely. In any case, the removal of this memory made him unstable. She was such an important part of his life that realizing she had been taken away…it kind of combined with the demonic runes and just…made him snap. I've managed to make sure it doesn't get worse, and he's able to somewhat communicate coherently. I think he misses you though. He keeps asking when you'll be back. It might be that he finds it easier to recall stuff when you're around. It's not necessary, but it's there._"

"So how do we _fix_ this?"

"_I can handle it, get his memories back to him, or at least help him stabilize to the best of my ability. I might need some help, but don't worry. We'll be discreet._"

Selina sighed. "Thanks. Anything you can do is appreciated."

"_No problem. Ve's my friend. You were right to contact me of all warlocks. I've got this._"

"I'd hope so. Seline recommended you."

"_Gotta go. He's drawing pictures of her now on the wall. He's gonna regret that later if he keeps scribbling that intensely. Not even magic can get that off with the amount of artist utensils he's using. I think that's pen, crayon, pencil, paint, water colors, and now he's onto sharpies and markers._"

"It sounds like you're watching over a toddler."

"_Close enough. At least he's relatively harmless. But stay wary of Malcolm. He might have taken these memories for a good reason. Or he might have something else under his sleeve that isn't exactly trustworthy. There's no way to know but either question him directly, or try and sneak the info and hope the man isn't as good a warlock as we think and doesn't notice. Keep vigilant._"

"As always. Thanks again, Val."

Selina hung up with a heavy sigh.

"What was _that_ all about?" Finnegan asked.

"Lock's incapacitated. Translating the demonic runes seems to have done something to him."

Selina repeated the information as best she could.

"Is there _anything_ that makes Lock normal at this point? I mean, he's practically stronger than every warlock we know except Magnus, and even _then_ the guy's on par with Magnus when he makes an effort. He knows, like, _everyone_ in the Shadow World that's helpful, he's the smartest guy I know and probably has a potion or spell for anything, and now he's an even _more_ powerful warlock than normal?"

"He's special all right," Selina said quietly.

"What's up with you? A few minutes ago you were jumping for joy at the prospect of shopping."

"I'm worried about him, that's all."

"Are you sure you don't wanna go and check up on him?"

"Val's got it handled. I trust her, and so does Seline. If I'm remembering things right, anyway."

"Who _is_ Val, anyway?"

"She's the warlock daughter of a memory demon. One of the most…_unique_ warlocks I've ever met. See, she's got the power to control memories, and she's about 2,000 years old, or so she says. When you're dealing with a memory demon's kid, you never know. Anyway, she's able to manipulate memories almost instantly. She can make it so that you're staring straight at something but your eyes aren't able to transfer it into memory, so you never remember seeing it - and therefore, you technically don't. By extension, I'm told that she has servants that are everywhere across the planet, unseen because the moment that you look away, you forget they were ever there. They photoshop themselves out of your memory."

"Wow. That…seems powerful."

"Yeah. So when Lock was having memory problems, Seline's memories said that Val was the best person to call. Oldest warlock I've ever met, nice, and powerful. Good thing she's a nice person, or so we all remember."

"It'd have to be lonely in a world where she could make herself be seen as anything she wanted. She could practically manipulate reality with those kinds of powers - I mean, if everyone all agrees on something, that means it has to be true, right?"

"With great power comes great boredom, or so Seline has taught me. There are things in an immortal, all-powerful life that bore you, so you have to go looking for reasons to go on. I think - or maybe that's just the remaining Seline in me - that Val has gone through her whole existential crisis phase and wants to see life continue for her own reasons. Because it's interesting. She can be involved or not whenever she wants, she can have her fun. Either way, I think she still likes helping people. She can sense memories, experience them, so she can have memories of first times - first loves, first losses, first joys, first sorrows. That probably helps. Either way, I think Veon's safe with her."

"Yeah, but you're still worried about him. Come on, Seels. We can just take Zoltan back to the Institute and you can take the car over to his apartment."

She stared out the window pensively as they drove. "I need to help you with this investigation. I'm your parabatai. I should put you above all else."

"And I'm saying that, for me, you need to go and get your guy."

"He's not '_my guy_.'"

"Not yet, no. But both you and Seline seem to like him. It's killing you to not knowing what's happening to him, that you can't help. So get over there and help. We've got enough people on the case, and the sooner he recovers and gets some answers, the better. We need to know if Malcolm is trustworthy, if this is all just some big misunderstanding, or if we shouldn't be asking Malcolm to help on such a sensitive case."

She sighed. "Fine, I'll head over there again. But only after we're done shopping."

He sighed. "It was worth a shot."

"You're not getting out of this _that_ easily."

Meanwhile, Fionn became completely silent in the backseat. _Dearil_. A girl who had been gone a long time. A girl who he'd rather forget about. He hadn't heard the name '_Dearil_' for some time now, not since he'd left the Court, his brothers, and his father. It meant '_Call of Death_,' and rightly so, all she seemed to bring was death. But Dearil had never known Lock - or _Veon_, rather. They had interacted, perhaps, but never had they known each other's names. Fionn was sure of it. How could Veon have possibly cared for a girl that had rarely left the Unseelie Court her whole life to the point that losing her threatened his sanity? Then again, there _was_ an incident where Dearil had been kidnapped with no memory of the experience. Of course, she had only been told of the experience with no evidence to back up the claim, but supposedly she had lost many years in captivity with a warlock. Could that have been Veon? But how and why would he capture a girl so valued by the Unseelie King? Why would he simply return her with no memories of their interactions?

And why in the world would Dearil's memory come back to haunt Fionn now?

* * *

_Dearil had only one thing that she loved: her mother. If not for Lady Sirea, Dearil would have long since attempted to flee or fight back against her oppressive family. Or perhaps she would've attempted to kill herself sooner than she had._

_ "Now focus and turn it all to flames," Brynhildr ordered._

_ Dearil closed her eyes and held out her hands, saying the enchantment in her head before feeling her power surge free. She felt an exponential drain of her power seeping to her hands and warming her palms. Then, the energy flew through the air and to her target: a plant that had been frozen completely in ice with magic. She grunted as she felt the cold resisting her magic, making the task of heating up the object even _more_ difficult because first she had to make it warm to make it hot. She pushed more power into it and the ice finally began to melt, visibly shrinking at a rapid pace. Finally, the plant inside was exposed, but seeing as it was still frozen on the inside, Dearil pushed a little more heat into it._

_ She felt a spark and quickly stopped feeding magic into it, but it was too late. The plant burst into flames. Dearil tried to fix it, rushing to absorb the flame and make sure the plant lived._

_ "**Let it live, let it live, let it **_**live_,_**_" she pleaded._

_ Finally, the flame went out. Dearil carefully opened her eyes, fearing what she would see. To her surprise, the plant had _grown_. Before, it had been barely three inches tall, a small stem and a leaf or two. But now it was a whole foot in height with numerous branches and leaves jutting out._

_ "I…I meant not to do such a thing," Dearil admitted._

_ For a moment, Brynhildr simply stared at her creation. There was something sad in her eyes, as well as something hopeful. It was almost as if she were staring at a miracle itself - like an oasis after days without water, light after years of darkness, fresh air after decades underground._

_ "Dearil…you must learn this restorative power," she finally said._

_ "The flames of life? I never knew I was capable, Brynhildr."_

_ "You are fully capable, I know you are."_

_ Dearil stared at her sister in shock. Brynhildr had never sounded so…vulnerable. She loved Dearil in a way, Dearil knew that, but she rarely showed so much affection. Brynhildr was the first daughter of the Unseelie King allowed to live after the incident - an incident that no one would speak of to Dearil, and so she never asked. Dearil suspected that Brynhildr had been the exception because she was blessed by the gods, fierce enough to earn her place. It was never stated but heavily implied that her husband was considered the Unseelie King's son more than she was considered his daughter - Brynhildr was treated like a daughter-in-law, and that somehow justified her position. In reality, though it was never stated aloud, Brynhildr was the king's daughter by blood while her husband, Lord Siegfried, had married in. Brynhildr was callous and obeyed the word of her father above all else. She didn't openly show affection to Dearil because she couldn't. But right now…was she…_proud?

_ "Sister…"_

_ Brynhildr shook her head. "Apologies. Dearil, if you are to master the power of Phoenix, you may yet have a chance."_

_ "A…chance? What chance do you speak of?"_

_ "The chance to save us all."_

_ Brynhildr would not elaborate on that for many months of training. After two years, Dearil's magical prowess had become more skilled. She could conjure flames at will from greater and greater distances, she could shape fire and control where it moved, she could warm any cold - be it from water and ice or from a chill in the wind - and she could use her flames to heal wounds and grow biological material._

_ It was on her 19th birthday that her sister took her down into the depths of the dungeon. She didn't ask questions, though she desired to do so greatly. She knew that Brynhildr would only berate her for it, after all. She followed her older sister down the hall, past the cells filled with prisoners that cried out for help. Dearil kept her head down. Perhaps if the other prisoners assumed she was one as well, they would cease their piercing wails of despair._

_ At the end of the hallway, they turned a corner and went down a dead end. Brynhildr put her hand on the wall and pushed, a symbol burning beneath her palm before the wall shimmered just slightly._

_ "Come."_

_ She stepped completely _through_ the wall, and Dearil quickly moved to follow her before the wall solidified behind her once more. Dearil and Brynhildr both glowed red in the dark, which was lucky, because right behind the transparent door was a set of stone stairs with no railing - easy to fall down if you weren't prepared. Dearil felt like they had walked for an hour before they finally came to the end of the staircase and turned a corner. After another short corridor, they turned another corner with an identical hallway. A third corner and a hallway later and they faced another short set of stairs. When they reached the end, there was a wooden door with a flame carved in the center. Brynhildr put her hand on the flame, setting it ablaze as the door was set alight and burnt completely away._

_ Dearil walked through the doorway behind Brynhildr as a whoosh of flames came from behind her. When she looked back, the wooden door had fully replaced itself. The room she was in now showed why there had been so many corridors - they had made a box around an enormous room, fifty meters tall from roof to ceiling and lit by an eerie blue light seemingly from the stones of the wall. Dearil and Brynhildr were standing about a third of the way down on a platform lining the wall. The room was freezing to the point that Dearil's breath could be seen. Considering she was in a dress that barely went down to her knees with a bateau neckline, she was instantly shivering._

_ She summoned some of her fire power to warm her, seeing Brynhildr had already done so ahead of her. Luckily the path beneath her was made of wood, not as cold as the stone or minerals that could have made up the path instead. She followed Brynhildr down the wooden path on the perimeter, staircase by staircase, before finally they approached the bottom and Dearil saw what they were heading towards._

_ It was a large body, arms, legs, and head like a gentry or a human. It wore nothing, but that was little issue even by human standards since it had no genitals. It appeared to be male otherwise, a large crown of horns cascading out from his head like hair. It was lying half encased in a bed of pure ice that took up the entire room, its orange skin turning blue from the cold. It almost seemed to shimmer even in the low lighting. If the body stood vertically, Dearil estimated it would be at least 30 meters tall._

_ "This is-"_

_ "The Infernian Ifrit," Brynhildr confirmed. "Excavated from the ruins of Solheim, specifically atop the volcano of Rava."_

_ "You captured a _god?!_" Dearil exclaimed, her voice louder than she intended because the large room acted like an echo chamber._

_ "You remember the tales of the Ifrit War?"_

_ "You told me of them, but they are not well known as fact, sister."_

_ "It has simply not been enough time for them to become legends. What do you remember of the Ifrit War?"_

_ "I-I…why would-?"_

_ She slapped Dearil harshly across the cheek. "Do as I say! Do not ask foolish questions!"_

_ "The Infernian Ifrit of the most powerful of Astrals - the Hexathon - became infected by a curse of the Astrals known as the Scourge. Being such a great creature, he gained the ability to spread the Scourge and control the victims. Normally, the Scourge caused the Astrals to go mad, but Ifrit retained his wits and turned on the Hexatheon. It was only by a miracle that Ifrit was defeated, but the Infernian line was doomed as traitors to the Hexatheon and were to be hunted down in the aftermath of Ifrit's defeat. You never told me how this imbalance of power was to effect nature should an entire branch of the Hexatheon be eliminated."_

_ "After the Ifrit War, the Hexatheon believed - or rather, _hoped_ \- that Ifrit and his subordinates were gone forever. However, the only ones that were able to defeat Ifrit were his direct descendants of the Infernian line: Brynhildr, Phoenix, Sigvǫrðr, and the one they called 'The Scion of the Angels.' All, along with Ifrit, perished in the final confrontation. Yet thanks to the power of Phoenix-"_

_ "You survived," Dearil realized, before shutting her mouth quickly, knowing that she had interrupted inappropriately._

_ Instead of slapping her again, Brynhildr simply nodded. "The Hexatheon suspected such, and so they began a hunt for all of us in order to fully eliminate the threat of Ifrit."_

_ "You, Ifrit, your husband Lord Siegfried…"_

_ "And you as well, Dearil. I have been training you with the power of Phoenix all your life, as you may have noticed. I believe you are ready."_

_ "Ready for _what_, Brynhildr? We are hunted by the _gods?!_ You mean to say we are of the legend you spoke of?! And…and Ifrit the Infernian himself is here?"_

_ "I have made a deal with the Unseelie King that he offers his protection to us. In return, he will have the blessing of the Infernians from the Hexatheon."_

_ "Only Ifrit of the Hexatheon wields such power, and he has gone mad with the Scourge! Or have I interpreted your meaning incorrectly?"_

_ "That is why you must take the blessing from him."_

_ "_What?!_ Brynhildr, I can do no such thing! You have taught me the powers of Phoenix, but I am not Phoenix! Even were I the Astral you speak of, I cannot take the power of the Hexatheon by force! Such a thing has never been heard of!"_

_ Brynhildr took Dearil by the shoulders. "You _can_, Phoenix. You _must_. It is the only hope of our kind. The Hexatheon believes we are tainted so long as Ifrit holds the Scourge and the fate of our kind. But if _you_ are to receive it, you could vouch for our redemption and save the world order. You are correct to be suspicious of the Hexatheon's decision to wipe out an entire branch. But they fear the Scourge more than they fear the consequences."_

_ "I…Brynhildr, this is too much for me to comprehend at this moment! I cannot simply take such a great power simply because I _want_ to! This is a power beyond most of the gods that you ask me to acquire with no instruction on how to do so!"_

_ "You must simply absorb the energy of Ifrit as you would with any flame you encounter."_

_ It was true that fire healed Dearil, gave her energy that she could fully absorb into her skin. It healed some of her greatest wounds with ease, invigorated her as though she had eaten a full meal of food and water, gotten a good night's sleep, and taken a deep breath of fresh air. But she couldn't exactly control such a feeling. She didn't purposefully absorb the energy from fire, it just happened._

_ "And the Scourge? What would happen were I to be infected as well upon the passing of this power?"_

_ "The four warriors that defeated Ifrit did so because they were immune for a reason they could only speculate. But you are Phoenix, and all of us have returned thanks to your power of rebirth. We have our wits, we are not infected, and Ifrit appears to be…at the very least, docile." She stared over at the large Astral form. "But the Hexatheon will not forgive his crimes, they will not risk that the Scourge still rests within him. But you have proven immune, and so we can make our case that a new leader will redeem us."_

_ "Why can you not take this burden upon you? You are far more qualified than I."_

_ She shook her head. "I am no leader, Dearil. I am a soldier, a survivor. I cannot nurture an entire species. In case you have failed to notice, Sigurd and I have no children."_

_ "Lord Siegfried seems…paternally insufficient," Dearil admitted._

_ Brynhildr did something Dearil had never seen before. She laughed. She threw her head back in a hearty cackle that echoed through the large prison of Ifrit. In all honesty, it was scary._

_ "No, he is in no condition to father anyone. And I am much the same, unqualified for parenthood. But Phoenix is loving and kind, smart and wise, powerful and authoritative, brave in the face of danger. Phoenix can take the place of Ifrit successfully, which is why I trust you to do this."_

_ "And the price to my father? Am I to be an eternal slave to him, no matter the power I gain?"_

_ "You must offer your services should he request aid, but otherwise, your greatest concerns shall lie in the form of the Hexatheon's acceptance of you."_

_ Dearil took a deep breath. "Hilda, I…I am not equipped for such a daunting fate. I am no leader, I am no diplomat, and I am weak in comparison to the rest of the Court."_

_ "And yet you are the only one who is capable of this task, no matter how qualified you feel. I have prepared you well; you simply do not believe in yourself."_

_ "I have lived a life of silence, punished for boldness, Brynhildr - often by your hand. If that was your preparation, I fail to see how I am well off."_

_ She sighed, looking off to the side to Ifrit's frozen form. "You cannot attract attention in the Court, Dearil, or we would be found before you were ready. The king would have me show you are complacent to the rest of the world in order to hide us properly. I hardly believed it was necessary, but should he rescind his protection prematurely, we would be hunted by every Astral in existence. Our kind would die out, our people slaughtered in the name of fear. Imagine all Infernian blood erased, Dearil. The sun would fade, bit by bit. Fire would be harder and harder to produce, until soon it would be impossible, no matter the means of combustion. All the heat of the world would be extinguished slowly but surely, and without heat, there is no life."_

_ Dearil couldn't deny Brynhildr's words. Brynhildr was holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, fighting against those who favored fear over reason, and relying on a chance that she could save her people and the future. She didn't like this arrangement either, she hated the desperate position she had been put into, and she hated having to bow to the Unseelie King for help. Most of all, she didn't want to place such a burden upon Dearil, either. Dearil suddenly felt great pity for Brynhildr. She was helpless, caught in a situation more complicated and difficult than ever, and though her options were extremely limited, if she simply sat back and did nothing, the results would be just as worse than if she tried and failed. Better to take a chance than to give up without trying._

_ "Okay," Dearil said with a nod. "I will try."_

_ "Thank you," Brynhildr said, and her voice was more sincere than Dearil had ever heard._

_ She stepped carefully towards the frozen form of Ifrit. The ice he was trapped in was seeping a wave of icy air, the cloud chilling Dearil almost to the point that it broke through her magical heating. She increased her aura of fire and stepped forward. She imagined any of her other training sessions with Brynhildr, unfreezing a creature and leaving it alive. All she had to do was combine that with that draining sensation that she got from being encased in flames._

_ She held out her hands, putting her palms on the exposed shoulder of Ifrit. She was touching an Astral, an Astral of the _Hexatheon!_ For a moment, she began to panic at the absurdity of the situation. Her sister was an Astral, so was her sister's husband. She herself was somehow as Astral - though she didn't feel like it at all - and she was expected to take the power of Ifrit himself! It was almost too much for her, but she took a deep breath._

_ "_**Just get it over with,**_" Dearil told herself._

_ She focused her power first into melting the Astral free so that she could connect to his life force. She had done healing before, but never had she taken one's power rather than give her own. Ifrit was enormous, but as Dearil melted a small part of him, his aura grew exponentially more and more powerful. Once again, Dearil was on the verge of panic. This was too much to absorb, she couldn't possibly handle this much!_

_ She breathed through her nose and out through her mouth using a calming technique she'd learned. Just a little at a time, she told herself. Ifrit's aura was no doubt fiery. He was like a raging inferno. He wasn't even fully released and Dearil already felt like she had stuck her hand inside a blacksmith's forge. She took in a deep breath and sucked in a small bit of Ifrit's power. Dearil had never known what it was like to burn before. Now she knew. Her hands stung as though they were being squeezed within a vice and soon she couldn't feel her fingers. A wave of heat flowed through her body, empowering her, but also making her feel like she was losing control. It was almost an out-of-body experience, watching herself barely keep a hold on Ifrit as she was shoved back from the surge of power. But she pulled herself together, gritting her teeth and taking deep breaths and staying in control._

_ It was like holding a large weight - her willpower was the only thing keeping her going and her body wanted to give in so badly, but she concentrated and attempted to let the power _give_ her control rather than _fight_ for control. With that mindset, she was able to take in another wave of Ifrit's power, this time more gracefully than the first. She was in control, this power would stay within her grasp and not go free. It would be hers, she was the master. Still, on the inside, Dearil just wanted this ordeal to be over._

_ She sucked in another wave of energy as her breaths became short, struggling for a moment to breathe. Luckily, the power she was absorbing seemed to make her need for oxygen a secondary concern, but her body felt like a balloon, just about to float away from the solid ground beneath her. Dearil was filled with power, and though she was now using it to her advantage, there was still too much for her to hold all at once. It was like eating a large meal and being full but you were still eating just for the sake of not letting anything go to waste._

_ Dearil's skin began to burn and it might have just been her, but the room was shaking. Ifrit's power was still growing, but Dearil had only managed to absorb a fraction of it before she was at her limit. A great fear overtook Dearil. She would die from this, wouldn't she? And what would happen after that? Would Brynhildr and the other Infernians all die out? Would the rest of the world be put at risk as well?_

_ As Dearil looked down, she had just enough time to see the blank eyes of Ifrit snap open before everything went white._

_ Brynhildr watched as Ifrit exploded. Dearil was thrown back with a scream as she hit the wall and crumpled. The entire room shook, Brynhildr heard a large roar, and Ifrit stood. Brynhildr herself was thrown back by a powerful aura, hitting the stones behind her and blinded as to what was happening. When the light finally faded, Brynhildr looked to see the prison was empty._

_ Ifrit was gone._

_ When Dearil woke the next day, she had no memory of the event in question. Brynhildr had simply stared at her with a new worry in her eyes. Her plan had failed, and honestly, she had no idea what she was going to do now. All she could do was hope that she could find Ifrit before the Astrals did, and that Dearil herself would awaken the power of Phoenix to do the ceremony properly. It was a long shot, but so was everything else that she was doing._

_ Of course, then came the day that an Astral attacked the Unseelie Court, and Dearil was taken_.

* * *

**Chapter title: "_Ain't It Fun?_" by Paramore**


	11. Show Me All The Scars You Hide

**I've double-updated and I'm catching up to where I've pre-written everything. I'm swamped with stuff, don't forget to read chapter 10 in case the updates mess up or something, see my rant all that good stuff.**

**Enjoy!**

**:)**

* * *

"_This_ is where you want to buy clothes?" Cristina asked, her eyebrows arched.

Finnegan followed Emma into a dirt parking lot surrounded by trees and hopped out of the car to join Emma and Cristina. In front of them was a single freestanding building with a sign boasting foot-high letters in glitter that spelled out the words **HIDDEN TREASURES**. A massive red-and-white popcorn machine stood next to the store, along with a painted model of a curtained caravan, advertising the services of Gargantua the Great.

"It's the closest place," Emma said. "And besides, it's awesome."

"This does _not_ look like a place you buy glamorous dresses," Cristina said, wrinkling up her nose. "This looks like a place where you are kidnapped and sold to the circus."

"What is the circus?" Fionn asked.

"A place where people dress up and do dangerous things for the sake of entertainment," Selina explained. "Acrobatics, breathing fire, taming lions and elephants, etc."

"It sounds like Faerie, now that you describe it," Finnegan said with a sigh. "Dangerous, not always voluntary, acrobatics, taming creatures."

Emma grabbed Cristina by the wrist. "Don't you trust me?" she wheedled.

"Of course not," Cristina said. "You're crazy."

But she let Emma drag her into the store with Finnegan and his party in tow, which was filled with kitschy knick-knacks: Fiestaware platters, old china dolls, and, up by the register, racks of vintage jewelry and watches. A second room opened off the first, full of clothes. Secondhand vintage Levi's, fifties pencil skirts in tweed and bombazine, and tops in silk and lace and crushed velvet. And in a smaller second room off the main one, the dresses. They looked like hanging butterflies: sheets of red organza, watercolor-printed charmeuse, the hem of a Balmain gown, the froth of a tulle petticoat, like foam on water. Needless to say, that was where the girls were headed. Beside the room with the dresses was what Finnegan was looking for: a room full of tuxes and all the parts that went with them separately: the dress shirts, the coats, the pants, the shoes, the ties, etc.

"Didn't Julian say he needed cuff links?" Cristina said, pulling Emma to a stop by the counter.

The salesgirl behind it, wearing a pair of cat's-eye glasses and a name tag that said **SARAH**, studiously ignored them. Fionn followed the two girls to the table, examining the cuff links like one would a present they were given that they didn't understand.

"I would assume I require links of the cuffs as well to decorate chains of mine," Fionn said.

"Not cuff links like _chains_, Fionn," Finnegan snickered. "I'll show you once we get to the tux section. Your wrists will have loose fabric that needs to be buttoned closed. It's loose because otherwise you wouldn't be able to get the shirt on past your hand. Cuff links are ways to decorate, basically."

Fionn nodded. "Would you do me the honor of aiding me in my quest for links of the cuff?"

Selina giggled. "You do that, Finn."

"Shut up," he hissed, but stepped forward to look at the selection anyway.

Most of them were joke items, shaped like dice or guns or cats, but there was a section of nicer ones: consignment Paul Smith and Burberry and Lanvin. The act of picking out cuff links felt like something a girlfriend might do, and though he wasn't a girl, he still kinda maybe sorta had a boyfriend that he was getting gifts like cuff links for. He took his time looking over the varieties of cuff links, instantly looking for anything with red. He finally chose a pair of cuff links in the shape of flames with ruby gems inside, one with a gold-plated back and the other with a silver-plated back. Didn't Fionn have hounds called Aurum and Argentum - gold and silver? Yes, very appropriate and very worth the money. Besides, Lock had given him funds when he had complained about it, so he wasn't exactly on a budget. Finn caught a glimpse of Emma's excited gaze fading bit by bit. She seemed…sad. She blindly picked up a pair of gold-plated cuff links with black stones set in them. Perhaps the idea of Julian having a girlfriend that got him cuff links pained her.

Emma and Cristina headed over to the dress section of the store while Selina accompanied the boys to the tux section.

"Okay! Where should we start?" Selina announced eagerly. "How about the shirts? That's a good place to start."

Finnegan instantly went over to the racks, knowing his size by human measuring standards and sifting through the different fabrics and styles. Fionn stared at the clothes with a blank and lost look on his face, causing Finnegan to laugh and move along the racks looking for smaller sizes that might fit Fionn.

"Here's one size smaller than mine and two sizes smaller," Finnegan said, offering a pair of shirts. "You're thinner than I am, but you're also a bit taller, so it's anyone's guess how this'll end up."

"Aw, it's so fun taking a new person shopping," Selina crooned. "Especially a guy who knows _nothing_ about the human world!"

"I know more than _nothing_ of the human world," Fionn argued.

After grabbing a few options, Finnegan brought Fionn into a changing room and helped him put on the shirt (as well as demonstrating where the cuff links would go once they were bought).

"Don't take too long or I'll assume you're having sex!" Selina called.

"Selina! I'm going to murder you one day!" Finnegan shouted back.

"Love you too, parabro!"

He sighed in exasperation, helping Fionn button up his shirt. "Looks like it's a bit short, but it fits otherwise. There won't be a perfect tailored solution unless we wanna waste time and effort on something that's not really worth it. It's not like you're gonna be able to use this regularly once we get you the full set."

Obviously neither of them got distracted by the act of Finnegan helping dress Fionn. Obviously not.

Obviously.

"I think we've found your size. Let's hurry and get everything else. This place isn't a million-dollar store, but at least it's got a selection."

Selina seemed to have more fun than anyone else when it came to choosing the different outfits they'd try on. Fionn abstained from the shoes as long as possible, but on the bright side, his stalling got him to the hat section where he found a fedora that properly covered his ears. While he still adamantly refused socks to the point that he drew his hunting knife once, they picked out some shoes that he said he'd be able to survive with for a few minutes and that was as good as they were going to get.

Finnegan and Selina went to pay for everything since they didn't want to risk the lady Sarah studying Fionn to closely, and so they told Fionn to go and retrieve Emma and Cristina if they were ready to go. Fionn headed through the dress section of the shop and headed for the part that he assumed was the dressing room. The conversation that he heard from Emma Carstairs made him start to lose respect for the Shadowhunter bit by bit.

"But I don't even know if I want this dress!" Cristina called.

"Yes, you do. I was serious about your boobs. They look amazing. I don't even think I've ever seen that much of your boobs before. If I had boobs like that, you better believe I'd show them off."

"Please stop saying 'boobs,'" Cristina wailed. "It's a terrible word. It sounds ridiculous."

"Maybe," Emma said, yanking the dressing room door shut in order to change. "But they look great."

"If you are quite ready, we have concluded our business of the men," Fionn called.

Cristina let out a heavy sigh. "And now _he_ has heard this conversation! I have never been so embarrassed!"

"I am a faerie, Cristina Rosales. I hardly grow bashful to such matters. However, my respect for Emma Carstairs wanes with each passing comment escaping her lips."

"I heard that!" Emma called.

Fionn waited outside the dressing rooms for the girls to change back into their normal clothes, but he found himself staring at one of the dresses. It was a flowing dress with a gradient color pattern that went from a dark red to a purple. It was short and simple, with a bateau neckline and a drop-waist that would've hit the wearer's hips rather than their actual waist. The end of the skirt would've flowed loosely down to about knee-length. Seeing it made him sad. He knew someone that would've really loved that dress. It was totally her style the entire way.

"You want it?" a voice asked, snapping him out of his daze.

He looked over and saw Selina standing beside him with a smile.

"Didn't know you had an eye for women's clothes, but hey, what you do in your alone time is none of my business."

"What?" Fionn blinked, realizing what she was suggesting. "I do not want the garb for _myself_. I simply know of one who would have once loved it."

"Once?"

"She is gone now."

Selina's smile faded to a solemn frown. "Oh. I'm…sorry."

He shook his head. "Why must humans insist on apologies for a past you are not responsible for?"

"We want to express our sympathies, that we feel bad that you had something bad happen to you. We don't have words for it beyond…I'm sorry that I can't fix your problems, because I really want to."

"That is…kind of you."

"So who was she? A girlfriend? Mistress? Sister? Mother?"

"A daughter of the Unseelie Court who was loved by very few and abhorred by many."

"Was she popular or something?"

He shook his head. "No. She was hated for no reason beyond her birth."

"Oh, one of _those_ kinds of kids. Illegitimate? Unfaithful lover?"

"Daughter of a powerful man's mistress," Fionn said carefully.

"Say no more. Infidelity in Faerie is considered _uber_ bad, right? I mean, even worse than here in the mortal world."

"Her father had no designated lover. He simply had children with many different women."

"Blech. One of _those_ kinds of guys. How did you and she meet?"

"I…" How to explain this without giving it away? "She and I lived in the same location." Literally, the _exact _same.

Luckily, before Selina could ask even more questions, Emma and Cristina walked out with their chosen dresses. Cristina had chosen a shimmering cocktail dress in pink brocade sprinkled with tiny golden flowers while Emma had chosen a pale silk dress with beaded silver straps. The ivory-and-silver material of the dress might have easily been mistaken for the white of death and mourning. Shadowhunters rarely wore the color casually, though the fact that it was ivory meant she could get away with it.

"Ready to go?" Emma asked.

"Finn's getting the boy stuff right now," Selina explained. "Meanwhile…" Selina went and picked up the dress that Fionn had been staring at. "I think I might as well get this one."

Without giving Fionn time to protest, she headed off to the counter to pay for her dress along with Emma and Cristina, and Fionn could only slip out of the store and wait for them.

"I'm heading to Veon's," Selina announced. "Could you guys take our bags?"

She handed over the shopping bags so that Emma and Cristina had everything in the back seat of the Toyota while Selina took the Jeep that belonged to the San Francisco Institute. Fionn and Finnegan, meanwhile, took Zoltan back to the Institute. They _could_ have rode with Emma and Cristina in the back seat, but if they had the opportunity to ride alone together, why would they pass it up?

"I probably don't say it enough, do I?" Finnegan asked, his hands wrapped around Fionn's waist as they mounted. He rested his head on Fionn's shoulder, pressing his stomach flush against Fionn's back. "Actually, I haven't really said it at all recently, huh? I guess I'm just scared that every time I say it, it's like saying that it'll be the last."

"I cannot know what you do not say if you do not inform me of your meaning, my Hunter. What is it that you fail to speak of?"

"You know."

"No, I do not."

"The love thing."

"Oh." Fionn gripped Finnegan's hand around his waist. "Then yes, I suppose I _do_ know. I will _always_ know. There is no need to speak of it often."

"But I _want_ to. Just not in front of anyone else. Just to you. But every time I want to say it, I don't want to make it sound like it's my last time to do so."

"I love you, my Hunter, and that will not be the last time I speak the words. I promise."

"I love you too. No matter what I'm supposed to call you."

Fionn smiled. "There are far from enough options to become confused, dear Finnegan."

The Shadowhunter shifted from behind him. "Stop flirting."

"I am not doing as you say. I am unfamiliar with the word you spoke. Was it the voicing of your name?"

"It's being a faerie, you dolt. And also saying my name."

Fionn gave a smile that Finnegan couldn't see from behind him. "I will make note of such a thing."

"Shut up," Finnegan grumbled from behind him.

* * *

The Los Angeles Institute was crazy, Val decided.

In the time waiting for Malcolm to show up, Val had witnessed Julian Blackthorn clean up all of the dishes from breakfast, spend an hour trying to convince Arthur Blackthorn that no one had stolen his bust of Hermes (it was under his desk), found out that Drusilla had locked herself in Tavvy's playhouse in a sulk because she hadn't been invited to the diner the night before, and rushed to Ty's room upon hearing Tavvy screaming only to find out that Ty had been hiding a skunk in his room. Livvy was busy convincing Ty to release the skunk back into the wild; Ty thought that the fact that he and Livvy had translated the Poe lines meant he'd earned the right to keep the skunk. Mark, the only sibling who hadn't given Julian any trouble that day, was hiding somewhere.

Finally there had been a loud, repetitive pounding on the front door of the Institute. Val had been informed through Veon's memories that Malcolm did that, so she made her way after Julian to meet the warlock. Val used her memory demon powers to get inside the Institute with ease. All she had to do was knock on the door, have Julian open it, saunter past him, and then erase his memories of her being there at all. She could wander around the Institute, erasing the memory of her presence in real time so that even if someone was staring straight at her they wouldn't be able to properly process her presence and remember her.

She wondered, for a moment, if going to intercept Malcolm was a good idea, but she needed to know if Malcolm truly was a bad guy. She had known Malcolm just as long as any of the others had - Magnus, Caterina, Ragnar, Veon, Andy (Val's husband, also a warlock, son of an incubus, don't judge).

Julian swung the door open. Malcolm Fade stood on the other side, wearing jeans and the kind of sweatshirt you could tell was expensive because it appeared to be filthy and torn, but artfully so. Someone had spent time and money ripping that sweatshirt.

"You know, it's not a good idea to whack on the door like that," Julian said. "We keep a lot of weapons down here in case someone tries to break in."

"Huh," Malcolm said. "I'm not sure what that first statement has to do with the second statement."

"Don't you? I thought it was obvious."

"No one trying to break in would be so obvious about trying to break in." Malcolm's eyes were a brilliant purple, which usually meant he was in a peculiar mood. "Aren't you going to let me in?"

"No."

His mind was whirling with thoughts of Mark. Mark was upstairs, and Malcolm couldn't see Mark. Mark's return was too much of a secret to ask him to keep - and too much of a clue as to the reason for their investigation. Julian schooled his features into a look of pleasant blandness, but didn't move from his place blocking the door.

"Ty brought a skunk inside," he said. "Believe me, you don't wanna come in."

Malcolm looked alarmed. "A _skunk?_"

"A skunk," Julian nodded. He believed that all the best lies were based on truth. "Did you translate any of the markings?"

"Not yet." He moved his hand - not much, a small gesture, but the copies of the partially translated markings they'd given him appeared, held delicately between his fingers. Sometimes, Julian thought, it was easy to forget that Malcolm was a powerful user of magic. "But I did discover their origins."

"Really?" Julian tried to look shocked.

They already knew the language was an ancient one of Faerie, though they hadn't been able to tell Malcolm that. On the other hand, this was a chance to check and see if the Fair Folk had been telling them the truth. Julian eyed Malcolm with renewed interest.

"Wait, maybe this isn't the markings." Malcolm eyed the papers. "It seems to be a recipe for orange cake."

Julian crossed his arms over his chest. "No, it isn't."

Val studied the papers as best she could from the angle behind Julian that she had. She was taller than him, luckily, but she worried that Malcolm might be able to see past her powers. If Malcolm really _was_ out to keep Zytaveon out of his business through foul means, Val herself knew that she could be in trouble. She had left her husband in charge of looking after Veon while she was out, promising him she'd be careful, but he knew if she didn't return to expect the worst.

Val did her best to study the papers for any foul play, feeling a slight migraine upon attempting to read the papers. Any warlock that gleamed upon it besides Malcolm wouldn't be able to, Val realized. At best they'd get a headache. At worst, if they were able to make it past the basic defenses, they'd probably get a taste of insanity like Veon did. Malcolm had to have cast that spell, there was no doubt about it. But why _would _he? Why else, if not because he had something to hide?

Malcolm frowned. "I definitely remember looking at a recipe for orange cake recently."

Julian rolled his eyes silently. Sometimes with Malcolm you just had to be patient.

"Nevermind," Malcolm said. "That was in a copy of _O_ magazine. This-" He tapped the paper. "An ancient language of Faerie - you were right; it predates Shadowhunters. Anyway, that's the language origin. I can probably get more done in the next few days. But that's not why I came by."

Julian brightened.

"I did some examining of the poison on that fabric you sent me last night. I checked it against different toxins. It was a cataplasm - a concentrate of a rare type of the belladonna plant with demon poisons. It should have killed you."

"But Emma healed me," Julian said. "With an iratze. So are you saying we should be looking for-?"

"I wasn't saying anything about looking," Malcolm interrupted. "I'm just telling you. No iratze should have been able to fix you. Even accounting for the strength of parabatai runes, you absolutely shouldn't have survived." His odd violet eyes fixed on Julian. "I don't know if it's something _you_ did, or something _Emma _did, but whatever it was, it was impossible. You shouldn't be breathing right now."

** _-TTOT-_ **

Julian trailed up the stairs slowly. He could hear yelling from above him, but not the sort that sounded as if anyone was in actual trouble. Telling the difference between play yelling and actual yelling was an absolute necessity when you were in charge of four kids.

Val wanted to follow behind him. She couldn't imagine what it was like, being told that you should be dead, wondering what miracle had saved you, and what cost that came with it. Instead, she moved to follow Malcolm out the door and grabbed his shoulder as he stepped through a portal. She was still able to access his memories as she would with anyone else, quickly erasing his memory of someone touching him. By the time he came out of the portal in his home, he'd forgotten all about the little worry that had popped into his mind.

Val made sure that he didn't remember any moment of her presence as she looked around for anything that might be suspicious. Particularly, she searched for any trapped memories, stored in any way. Being the daughter of a memory demon, she had the ability to sense when someone had taken and stored away memories by force. Back when Magnus had been commissioned to take away Clary Fairchild's memories of the Shadow World even as she saw them, it was Val who had given him the means of using the spell. Magnus had, of course, left his signature in his proud moments of having accomplished the spell on his own without Val's help, and so when Clary came looking for a way to get her memories to return, Magnus was who she went to rather than Val.

She wanted to search through Malcolm's memories, but she felt that was too risky and a last resort. Warlocks could often sense when another had done something to their mind, be it trying to steal memories or delve into protected ones. Val could do something small like making sure Malcolm didn't remember her in real time since he wasn't _looking_ for her specifically, but if she tried to view memories that he wanted to keep secret, she would no doubt be detected, and after that, Malcolm's mental defenses would be up and he'd actively seek out Val with her unable to block him well enough. Despite all his joking, Malcolm was a powerful warlock.

Val wanted to consider the man her friend. He was funny and quirky, he was powerful and intelligent, he was squeamish and nerdy. He took things seriously when he needed to, he had his own share of immortal of trauma, and he was a good guy regularly. But if what he did to Veon was true, Val couldn't just let him off the hook.

She went around the large mansion that was Malcolm's house, searching for any hint of foul play. She felt a small blip on her mental radar - there was stored memories somewhere. Val went in the general direction, down the winding halls, before finally she reached a room that she sensed the memories were behind. They were in some kind of storage, unsurprisingly, a box of sorts, and they were trying to escape. They were memories so important that they were trying to get back to their owner. Val had power over memories, but on top of that she had the natural powers of a warlock with the ability to cast spells, and so she waved her hand and the spell on the door was waved away. No doubt Malcolm felt the disturbance, so she knew she had to be quick.

She went inside, finding that there were numerous trinkets of magical items. It was practically a maze in there, items scattered about all around her feet, stacked on tables, set in mountains of knick-knacks on the floor. Val made her way into the room, following her senses to where Veon's memories had to be held. She hurried through, before finding a large pile of books around a table with a box on top, among other things like gems, an odd compass, a feather quill, an old worn journal, and a pony-tail of red hair sparkling with magic. Val reached for the box, sensing the memories inside. These things were important, she could feel it even from just being beside the memories and not even tapping into them.

She opened the box, seeing a sphere swirling with magic. Memories, no doubt, were stored within. Spheres were a common way to physically manifest memories and hold them inside. It looked like a little storm of pure swirling electricity inside. She took the random objects and placed them inside the box alongside the memory sphere before closing the lid and picking up the box and turning to leave. Time to make a quick exit, she decided.

"Val?"

She found herself face-to-face with her husband, for no reason at all that she could comprehend. "_Andy?_What the _hell?_ What are _you_ doing here?! I told you to stay at Veon's!"

"Nevermind _that_. What are _you_ doing?" he demanded. "Are you _stealing_ from Malcolm?"

"This is a box of memories. I just want to take them in for further study."

"Further study? And you can't just _ask_ Malcolm about it?"

"The memories are _screaming_, Andy! They want to get back to their owner! You know I'm sensitive about stuff like this. Memories are delicate, they have to be handled by a professional. We can ask Malcolm about them _later_."

"And if those are the memories of some dangerous monster? If releasing them results in bad news?"

"I'll be sure to study it thoroughly before I release them. I know what I'm doing, Andy. You should have more faith in me. You've seen me handle much worse."

He sighed and shook his head. "Fine, have your little investigation. Get out of here before you're caught."

She nodded. "What about you?"

"I'm here for a reason. Just trust me and go."

She looked to him worriedly, but she nodded and moved to the door. For a moment, she felt there was something off about her husband. Why he was there, how he found her, why he was acting so weird, that was something that made her alarm bells scream, yes, but the part that bugged her most was the fact that there was something wrong she couldn't put her finger on. It distracted her so much, that by the time she figured it out, she was zapped with a shock hard enough to cause her to instantly pass out. Her husband had no memories, none at all. To have no memories meant that he was not a person. What was he then, she wondered, but a figment of her imagination, conjured by a spell meant to protect anyone who would try and steal that box? Unfortunately, she was unable to answer that question by the time that she was knocked out and the box clattered to the floor a few feet away where Malcolm waited.

** _-TTOT-_ **

The room with Tiberius's computer was filled with light and noise. When Finnegan pushed the window open and hopped in with Fionn right behind him, he wasn't expecting the scene before him. There was a video game alive and flickering on the computer screen with Mark in front of it, mashing rather desperately at the buttons on a controller as a truck sped toward him on-screen. It crushed his character with a splat and he tossed the controller aside.

"The box serves the Lord of Lies!" he announced indignantly.

Ty laughed. He did it so sincerely, without any attempt to cover up his laughter or any sense he should hide it. Wordplay and irony often weren't funny to Ty, but people acting silly was, and he had an absolute and sincere amusement at the behavior of animals - Church falling off a table and trying to regain his dignity, for example.

"It's not a box," Ty said. "It's a controller."

"Well, it lies," Mark declared.

"It can't lie unless it's broken," Finnegan announced. "It _shouldn't_ be able to lie, not unless someone commanded it to."

"What controller might the Lord of Lies induce?" Fionn asked, climbing elegantly as ever through the window.

"Apparently Mark's."

"Ah."

"Your return is welcome, Fionn Flann," Mark greeted, turning in his chair. "Might you assist me in banishing the enemy of the mystic world?"

"Will an Io suffice?"

"Uh, let's _not_ destroy Ty's computer, eh?" Finnegan suggested. "Or the controllers. Rage is powerful, and videogames beget rage if it weren't that obvious already."

"I have much control of my rage," Fionn argued.

"Rage shall bequeath the strength to triumph when utilized properly."

"Very true," Finnegan admitted. "But you might need to work on that thing a little more."

"You are no exception, my Hunter," Fionn muttered.

"Excuse me. I am _very_ mature and in control of myself and my temper."

Mark turned to see that Julian was watching with an amused smile in deep thought at the doorway. "Well met, Jules."

Julian knew this was a faerie greeting and struggled internally not to point out to Mark that they'd already met that morning in the kitchen, not to mention several thousand times before that. He won over his baser impulses, but just barely.

"Hi, Mark."

"Is everything all right?"

Julian nodded. "Could I talk to Ty for a second?"

Tiberius stood up. His black hair was messy, getting too long. Julian reminded himself to schedule a haircut for both twins. Another thing to add to the calendar.

Something in Julian's eyes looked sad, Finnegan noticed. For a kid that had learned to look after four younger siblings, Finnegan wondered how Julian went on sometimes - especially in the world of being Shadowhunters. He had to hate being in charge, making all the decisions and facing the weight of the consequences. He had to be constantly terrified that his siblings would hate him because he couldn't be their brother - he had to be their parent. And what if he lost them in _other_ ways? What if even one of them was killed or exiled like Helen, or punished for something? Their family was so big that it was delicate; there were so many pressure points that could fracture their entire system at any moment. Right now, he had to be scared of losing Mark again after finding him, he had to be scared of losing his parabatai. Finnegan wondered how far the boy could stretch, silently begging for someone else to take over, wanting a life that he couldn't have, pretending to be stronger than he was. A crack in Julian would be like a crack in the world to his family. He had no one to lean on, because everyone else always had to lean on him.

As Ty and Julian exited into the hallway, Fionn grabbed the controllers to the computer game. "Let us learn to destroy the box of lies. Finnegan, instruct me on thy methods of game destruction."

* * *

"Val? _Val!_"

Selina looked around Lock's apartment, but Val didn't respond to her calls.

"Hello. You must be Selina."

Selina turned to be met with an absolutely blindingly handsome man. He had an orange sparkle to his skin and beautiful golden brown eyes. He was dressed casually as any other man - jeans, a shirt with some band name on it, his long brown hair pulled back into a loose pony that snaked down his shoulder. He looked slightly feminine, minus the fact that he was at least a foot taller than Selina with broad shoulders and muscle that suggested he did some kind of physical work - be it fighting or going to the gym.

"Uh…"

"I'm Andraeus, Val's husband, but call me Andy. Son of an incubus. Just blink a few times and it'll get better."

Selina did as she was told, slowly tearing her eyes away from him and clearing her clouded mind. "Son of a…an incubus demon?"

He nodded. "A warlock. But don't worry. I'm a good guy, unlike a lot of other incubus spawn. I believe in fidelity and true love or loves. Plus, I'm married. I only do consensual stuff - and by that I mean reading people's minds not…uh, other stuff. People have bad interpretations of me because of my father. I can sense people's love lives - who they like, who they love, who they're meant to be with, stuff like that. I have a small matchmaking business. That isn't to say that I don't have a few tricks up my sleeve for when someone deserves punishment. But enough about that. I'm a fellow host of an Astral, as well. Unfortunately, me and Seline aren't on the best of terms, but I'm not as stuck up as some of my brethren."

"What Astral are you?"

"A Helian of the sun."

Selina nodded. "Ah. That makes sense, actually."

He moved to sit down on the couch in the living room, waving his hand to summon a cup and saucer with some tea. "Val told me that I had to look after Zytaveon for some reason, and I'm glad that I agreed to do so. I recovered something long since taken from me without my knowledge."

"What?" Selina asked, moving to sit in a chair across from him.

"My memories of Dearil."

"You knew her too?"

He nodded. "I haven't gotten _all_ of my memories back of her, just the ones that I can gleam with my powers. You see, when I met her, I appeared to have read her love life. The only things I can put into words are the fact that she loved who she shouldn't - she loved Zytaveon. And from my Helian blessings, I've been attempting to recover my memories the rest of the way. Dearil was important to the Astrals, she held…she held a key to saving the Infernians. As a Helian, I am a descendant of the Infernains, you see. For my kind's wellbeing, I knew that I needed to protect her, but…but I think I failed. And now, I can hardly even recall her name, her face, her voice, her _love_. The part of her in my heart is gone, taken by force, and Zytaveon has had the same thing happen to him - except he is beginning to force his way into remembering as well. But he's not an Astral; the process is straining him significantly. And now Val has gone missing too when she went to investigate Malcolm's home to attempt to recover Zytaveon's stolen memories."

Selina sat forward in her seat. "Val's missing?"

He nodded grimly. "I'm afraid Malcolm has her and needs her for something."

"That's it, we _need_ to tell the others. Right now."

"First, go speak to Zytaveon. We have to be careful here. If you tell the Shadowhunters, what is the first thing they're going to do, do you think?"

"They'd deny it at first. They'd be in disbelief. And then they'd go confront Malcolm and he'd either tell them or continue his ruse. They'd probably fall for it, but Malcolm's façade would fail _eventually_. After they realize the truth, they'd confront him head-on with anger in their actions and they'd probably lose against him because of that."

Andy nodded. "Not allowing Malcolm to know we're onto him would be in our best interests. And Shadowhunters-"

"-have a 90% chance of ruining _that_ plan."

"Exactly. We need to approach this situation with caution and find out what Malcolm's planning, what he hopes to accomplish by taking away Dearil's memory from _all_ of us - anyone who'd ever known she was a part of our lives. Not to mention Dearil could be a wild goose chase, or at least a red herring that's distracting us from the real problem. Veon was trying to help Malcolm investigate those killings, right?"

"So Malcolm might have something to do with them, the killings that involved Emma's parents' murders."

"Possibly, yes. And I worry that even _greater_ things might be at play, that even Malcolm may be a red herring as well. In these dark times for the Astrals, I worry that something even worse is afoot."

"You think the witches have something to do with this?"

"Malcolm is a good man, he's _obsessed_ with love. He once _had_ someone that he loved, you know that? But she abandoned him one day. He respected her choice, even if he wasn't happy with it, but then he learned that it was all a lie. His love only grew stronger, but it grew…maddeningly painful. There was so much sorrow, so much desperation, and _so much **love**_. Whatever happened to him, I'll bet my dragon that his messed up love life is related to it. But in any case, we need to first find Dearil. She is our savior - not only of the Infernians, but of the rest of the Astrals as well. There _can't_ be an imbalance of power, and we need a way to restore order. She may be the _only_ one who can do such a thing."

"And you think Veon might be able to find her?"

"If _anyone_ could, it's him."

"You…said that she loved him, right?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, but if you know _anything_ about Zytaveon, you'd know that he was oblivious as a worm."

Selina snickered. "That bad?"

"Oh yeah. He broke her heart without realizing it - quite literally. But she was loyal to him, even if he'd never know the truth about her feelings."

"I mean, it's _far_ from the _first_ time that he's deserved a good knock to the head for being an idiot."

Andy chuckled. "True enough. He's pretty stable at the moment, but at the same time I can't go into anything about Dearil without him freezing up and beginning to lose himself again. See if you can get anything out of him."

She nodded and headed over to Veon's study where Andy said he was currently brewing potions to try and keep his nerves down.

"Veon?"

He looked over from his desk, swirling a vial in his hand. "Oh, hey Selina. You find anything about the murder case?"

"Uh…no, not really. We're heading to a place tonight to try and find some more info. There's this thing called a Lottery. We don't know what it is or what it's for, but we're gonna try and find out. But…I was worried about you."

He set down the vial he was finishing up and turned in his seat to face her. "Worried?"

"Things have been a bit crazy recently. I just wanted to make sure you're right in the brain after Malcolm's spell."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever Malcolm did was just _rude_. But…I believe that there's still a good guy in there. Somewhere. I just want to know _why_ he'd stop me from helping. Does he not _trust_ me to help him?"

"I think he feels he can do everything alone. It's how you feel sometimes when you're determined to get something."

"Malcolm's always been about love and stuff. I wonder if his actions are driven by love."

Selina couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her lips. "You think you know love when you see it?"

"I know about _his_ love because he practically writes it on a billboard with flashing lights and sirens. I think that he wants to love, I think that he had a love he lost and he wants that kind of love to exist. In a world like this, love is never guaranteed. There are lies and secrets, there are feelings that just happen like loving another because they are familiar, falling _out_ of love because you have so much of it. And then there's just…death. There are _rules_ and just natural feelings, but there's also something completely uncontrollable." He chuckled lightly to himself. "Then there's my luck, of course. Hell, even _Magnus_ has a better streak than me. He might've fallen for a Shadowhunter, but at least things are working out for him - slowly but surely. Me? I've probably ruined every chance at love I get. I don't _love_ like other people do. I love my friends, I love children, I love being alive. I just…don't love like Malcolm says - as though I'm destined to have a soul mate or anything. Just sometimes love is tiring because it's so powerful that it hurts. And sometimes you just keep doing it wrong, so you…lose heart and give up."

A memory suddenly popped into Selina's mind. When she was Seline, Artemis had told her to ask Lock what he wouldn't give to _not_ be a warlock. Now was as good a time as any.

"Hey, Lock?"

"Hm?" he asked, not averting his eyes from his work.

"Is it hard, being a warlock?"

He stopped his work and turned towards her. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged. "I'm just curious. I've never been a warlock, and I have a feeling that being an Astral and being a warlock are two very different things. They face immortality, but you're still so much more…fragile, forgive me for saying."

He set down his beakers and leaned against the table with a sigh. "Well…of _course_ it's tough being a warlock. It's tough being _anything_ in this world."

"What's the worst part?"

He stared out the window behind her. "I suppose it would be the beginning. Especially when you're first born, when you're a child who knows nothing about the Shadow World, your parents, and what's so wrong with you. We don't choose our parents, we don't choose our Warlock Mark or our powers. When you're first born, that's where most warlocks die. Our human parents usually throw us out. If we somehow get found by someone from the Downworld who's willing to show mercy to some capacity, that's a miracle itself. Then there's the growing up hiding from the world. You don't understand why you're different from everyone else, or why you're inferior to Shadowhunters. They've got their skills, sure, but they're not superior by blood. But _they_ seem to think so. They have all this power, they have their stupid Clave and the Accords, but you can't do anything to change it no matter how wrong you _know_ that it is. You see your friends and family always on edge and then you see people you're fond of taken away and you can't do _anything_, and you don't understand _why_."

She noticed he was gripping the table tightly.

"I'm sorry," Selina said. "I shouldn't have asked."

"I had this friend, you know? When I was young, still living in the tunnels like a monster. There was this girl who came once, hearing the rumors about the monster in the sewers. She didn't explore like all the other idiots, she just left a large chunk of meat at the entrance. I ate it and let her live. Then, she did it again. She came back and fed me every day. She kept her distance, but she also wasn't afraid. She told me her name was Rei, that she was in a foreign land - she'd just immigrated there in hopes of a better life, but times were tough. There was a war going on, and her Papa was gone. Then, one day, she was followed. Her mother, grandmother, something like that - a woman beat her with a stone wrapped in cloth for stealing all of that meat. They were poor, they couldn't afford to just give away the meat they sold on their farm. It was when she started bleeding that I snapped. I killed the woman in retaliation. Rei ran away screaming, and she never came back.

"After Magnus found and saved me, started telling me all about the Shadow World and taught me how to pretend to be human, I looked around for her. When I found her again, she was living on her farm still, had a husband, but she was mute. She hadn't spoken since that day, she never would again. I didn't approach her, but I watched her. I think she knew I was there but she never said anything. Anyway, one day, the Shadowhunters found out about her, learned that she knew about the Shadow World. She was a mundane, so they took her away, locked her up in the City of Bones to interrogate her about what she had seen, who she had told. She hadn't told anyone, who would believe her? She went mad in the City of Bones. She finally found her voice again, but it was only because she was begging for someone to help her because the voices she began to hear in her head were destroying her. The Shadowhunters just let her die. I'm not sure what they did with the body - she was so unimportant to them that there were no records of her death or what happened to her. I heard from one source that I paid off that she hit her head on the walls of her cell, the bars, trying to get the voices out. Kept doing it even as she bled, before eventually, she cracked her own skull. Another source said she killed herself with one of the bones she got her hands on. Another says they tried to use the Mortal Sword on her and she burned up. Hell, one source said she helped a demon get into the City of Bones but they were all eliminated in _that_ way, the Clave saying her death was justified because she was no longer human."

"Lock…"

"I've had a _long_ life, Seline. I've seen things that I'd rather forget, but even if I could whip up a potion or cast some spell to take my memories away, I wouldn't. These things make me who I am, for better or worse. I've tried to be better, tried to make sure that nothing like that ever happens again to anyone who's innocent, who had a good heart in a bad world. Rei was just a little girl, a girl who had been brave enough to make friends with a monster, and she was broken because of it - because of _me_."

"It was the Shadowhunters, Veon. No one would condone something like that today."

"It was always in secret. They hide from us the truth of their actions. Like Malcolm, for example. He had a Shadowhunter that he fell in love with a few centuries ago, but the Shadowhunters found out about it and they took her away. He was told she'd become an Iron Sister, but in reality, they had tortured her, claiming that she had been possessed or manipulated by the evil warlock and she could no longer be trusted. Then they killed her, and he only found out the truth a while later - not sure when. I forget what her name was. Annabeth, maybe. It was a long time ago. Malcolm still preaches romance like there's no tomorrow, all because of her. He wants to believe some love stories are meant to come true, and who can blame him? I'm just glad that he's not taking the vengeance route; he's using his tragedy to make himself into a better person. You don't see a lot of that in this world." He shook his head. "Nevermind that. What about you? I can hardly even imagine being a god. Is it different than being just an immortal?"

"Being Seline is like…being in a constant state of blankness. She _is_ me sometimes, and then again, she's not. She has to hold onto this…empty state, or else I think the weight of her world would come crashing down upon her. She feels emotion, all of the Astrals do. They just don't want to feel the bad stuff, so they don't. Sometimes, they forget what it feels like to be sad, to be afraid, to feel dread and longing for what you can't have. Who wants to feel that if they don't have to? But at the same time, it makes them lose a part of themselves. Seline kept that part of her, against her better judgment, and it's always a constant struggle to remain positive in a world that just doesn't seem to matter when you have an eternity to live in it."

"I'd say she turned out okay in the long run."

Selina moved to take a seat in a chair across the room from him. "Maybe. But it hurts a lot. She's confused and angry and depressed. Finding purpose in your life, that's hard. She came here looking for Phoenix to help him. She hated him, but she loved Scion more - enough to attempt to preserve him at all costs. Because he made her realize something: it hurts to lose something - it hurts to _fear_ losing something - but you can learn to be okay with losing things. So long as you never forget them, so long as you mourn the loss _properly_, so long as you move on and accept _new_ happiness in its stead."

"So it's basically like being any _other_ immortal?"

"Sort of. But on top of it, you have a lot more power. You have the power to change the world, to go anywhere you want, to make disasters and grant miracles. When the world is a board to play a game with at your fingertips, a lot of it begins to lose meaning. But…there are definitely still good things out there. It's just sometimes it takes a bit of time to find it all."

He leaned back in his seat. "Yeah. I suppose so. Then again, when you're _me_, everything feels cursed."

"You're not _cursed_. You're just different. That's not a bad thing."

He hummed in amusement. "Did Andy or Val tell you about me?"

She shook her head. "In what way?"

"About what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing _wrong_ with you, Veon. You've just been a little out of it from Malcolm's spell."

"I'm different, Selina. You see, my father liked to consider himself a genius. So when his sister died, he harnessed her essence - the dust she dissolved into, the energy left in her defeat - and instead of returning to the realm she came from, he used the power from her to make me. I'm the son of my father - a full-blooded demon - and a warlock woman. My step-father that was married to my mother didn't know she was a warlock; she was lucky in the sense that her Warlock Mark was rather normal. Normal enough for her to get married like a mundane woman, anyway. I couldn't tell you _what_ her Warlock Mark was because she died when she gave birth to me. But _I_ survived, looking like the freak that I was."

He ran his fingers across a patch of his scales on his forearm. Selina rested a hand on his. "You're _not_ a freak."

"In the mundane world I was. To my step-father I was. He left me to die. Apparently, when I was a newborn, my skin was fully _covered_ in scales. My eyes were permanently slit like a reptile's, my nails were claws, my teeth came in sharp enough to rip muscle from bone. I lived in the sewers like a monster - I _was _a monster. But most of all, I kept hearing a voice in my head, trying to take over my actions. My aunt, probably. It was meeting Rei that made the voice go away, or at least quiet down a bit. The concept of friendship, of being loved, of being more than a monster - I suppose it brought the human in me out. When she was beaten, the monster came out again. I knew then that I didn't want to trust humans. And then I met Magnus. He was patient with me, man. He _had_ to be. But no matter how much I drove him away, he always fought even harder to earn my trust. The world was a cruel place, it always would be, and I had every right to want to lash out. But Magnus taught me that if I calmed the voice in my head, it was so much…_nicer_. Long story short, that's resulted in the man you see before you today."

Selina gave him an encouraging smile. "Well I'd say you turned out all right."

He scoffed. "Sure. But I still hear her voice." He tapped his temple. "She's always there, even if I've learned to keep her in control. Malcolm's spell didn't just take away my memories, they began to bring her out. He gave her the opportunity to escape, to start trying to take over me again. I'm afraid. I'm always afraid she'll take over and I'll never be myself again."

"Why tell me this, Veon? Don't you dare go asking me to kill you if something like that happens."

"No, nothing like that. I'd ask you to bring me _back_, Selina. Not kill me. But…I hadn't really thought about that, actually. I guess…I just didn't want to keep this to myself any longer. I just didn't want to hold this burden to myself. I've told everyone over 200 years old or so, give or take, but no more than that. Getting it out feels nice, every once in a while. And I trust you. I…I hope you're my friend."

She gave a sideways smile. "Well of _course_ I am, silly. I will be forever - maybe quite literally if I get my godliness back without worry of that whole curse."

He smiled. "Well I suppose we'll have to get to work solving that little issue."

"Speaking of which, I came here in the _first_ place to see if you could help us find the person that may be our answer."

He sat forward in his seat. "Well tell me who. I'm the best warlock out there to come to with your woes."

Selina took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "We're looking for a faerie - a faerie named…Dearil."

He blinked. For a moment, she could see his thoughts swirling around in his head. For a moment, his eyes began to shake to the point that Selina was worried she had given him some kind of aneurysm. Then, he turned his body back to face his desk.

"Dearil…Dearil…my little gem. They took you away…"

He looked up to one of his numerous shelves of books and held his hand out. A large textbook came flying out from the shelf, the spine shooting right into his hand as he opened it and flipped through the pages.

"I can find you though."

He set the book on the table and grabbed a notepad, beginning to take down notes.

"What have you found?" Selina dared to ask.

"She was with me for a whole _decade_," Veon recited, as though he was attempting to memorize information for a test. "There's traces of her presence all around - even if _we_ don't remember her, the rest of the world does. Every breath she took, every air molecule she pushed out of the way because of her presence, every fire she burnt, every step she took, every person she met, _everything_ \- her existence still remains in the past, and evidence of it must be _everywhere_. My apartment's always been a bit messy, but there _have_ to be changes that she made. My journals must hold some of that evidence."

"And do they?"

"Take a look. I document most things in my life because…well, sometimes a warlock's memory isn't any better than a mundane's. Even we begin to forget after a while, and I never want to. Right here, these are some entries from her time here."

Selina read through the passages on the page, written in Veon's sleek handwriting. He didn't do cursive necessarily, but some of his letters were strung together. Some of his handwriting was perfect and neatly organized, other times it was sloppily documented for the sake of speed. Her eyes locked onto an entry that Veon had pointed out for her and she began to read.

'_My gem will be leaving home tomorrow. How I've dreaded this day, but I have no doubt this will not be the last of our encounters. She is stronger than when I first found her, a helpless little girl in the Unseelie Court. We part today with a farewell, but not a goodbye._'

Beneath the entry, there was a signature in a very fancy handwriting - the name '_Dearil_' written with a fancy enlarged 'D' and a swirly 'L' that circled around to make a line underneath her name. Beside it was also a red fingerprint.

"Her blood," Veon explained. "In case we ever needed to get into communication, she gave me some of her blood to track her down."

Selina could hardly believe what she heard. It couldn't really be _that_ easy, could it?

Veon seemed to read her face because he gave a smirk that was definitely showing he was back to his regular self. "Oh, yeah, it might just be that easy."

* * *

"You have to take the bracer off, Fionn," Finnegan said. "It won't fit under the sleeve."

He held his hand up as the Io bracer disappeared into a small gem in the palm of his hand.

"Wow. Cool."

"My Io is unique in the storing qualities it possesses."

Finnegan helped Fionn put on his dress shirt. Finnegan tried not to stare at Fionn's exposed torso; Fionn tried not to squirm at Finnegan's touch. Then again, they had just finished something up not long before that and washed up, so hopefully everything was out of their systems. Apparently not, as Fionn had to fight the urge to kiss Finnegan again, pin him against the wall, and begin another round. There was something messed up about his brain. He had a vague thought wondering if Finnegan fought such impulsiveness as well. Finnegan was naturally shy and hesitant when it came to being alone with Fionn anyways, so if he _was _facing issues, there was no way Fionn could pick it out that easily. When they had other company, he was smooth and confident - especially since he'd begun to embrace who he was regardless of how the Shadowhunter community saw him.

"Is this attire truly necessary?" he asked, attempting to distract himself.

"Semiformal means a suit," Finnegan shrugged.

Fionn's nose crinkled in an adorable way that had Finnegan wanting to kiss him. Yeah, he had issues. He wondered if Fionn did things like that just to mess with him. Then again, Finnegan couldn't properly discern when Fionn meant to do something because Fionn was a good actor. He couldn't lie with his words, but in turn he could lie with his actions. He could put on a façade of being tired when he was really awake and alert; adversely, he could appear awake and alert when he was exhausted and about to pass out. Plus he thought many things that _weren't_ innocent were _completely_ innocent because of his faerie nature.

"This garb is restraining."

"I know, right? You _should_ be able to move in this. There _are_ kinds that are just _impossible_ to fight in compared to this."

"I thank you for aiding me in locating proper vestments with the proper manner of dress. Never had I anticipated I would require such a thing in protecting Mark."

Finnegan finished buttoning the top of Fionn's shirt and smiled at him. "Well, you look great. And sometimes life throws you the most unexpected of things. You being a little more mundane than the average faerie? I'm not complaining. You're really cute when you're clueless about human customs."

Fionn frowned in a way that showed he wasn't _truly_ upset, but he was mildly annoyed at the very least. "I must return the favor, as it might be said amongst your people."

"Oh stop it. You already know how to speak like a human really well."

"I must bequeath you the knowledge of Faerie and its wonders. There is much you might glean with an escort to demonstrate the beauty within the danger."

"I'd like that, one day - even if I'd be a little scared about everything trying to either kill me, curse me, or make me make unintentional deals."

"Or trap you for eternity within Faerie for a lifetime of torture and a horrific death."

"Yup. All that jazz."

He kissed Fionn lightly before moving to put on his own tux. He wasn't a big fan of fancy clothes, but they would grow on him slowly but surely as the night went on. At least he wasn't like the girls who had so many options - colors, sparkles, shapes, straps, lengths, prices wah! He didn't know how they survived. And at least he had pockets. Women's clothing so often didn't have pockets. Merida and Selina had complained about it endlessly, and so he now thought about them every time he saw a woman's dress - does it have pockets?

He sighed, wishing Selina was here, but it was good for her to go and look after Veon. She said that something bad had happened to him in attempting to pursue the investigation, and he regretted ever getting Veon involved. Selina looking after him wasn't necessarily a bad thing though, and she said that he'd been getting better. Besides, they had enough Shadowhunters going already. He hated being away from Selina so often, but at the same time things were a bit…sideways. Ever since she lost the goddess within her - or at least had it suppressed - Finnegan had felt their bond was slightly off. It was like the difference between cool, icy water and lukewarm, room-temperature water. Still water, but off.

"How do these links of cuffs function?" Fionn asked with a bashful gaze.

Finnegan had already explained them to him before, but he couldn't manage to get the cuff link on his wrist with only one hand. He was thinking about resorting to using his Io as a third hand - which he _could_ do, though it took concentration.

Finnegan buttoned up the rest of his shirt and went over to take the cuff links from the faerie. "I'll put them on. They're to hold closed the sleeve since it needs to be big enough for your hand to make it through, but you want it to cling to your wrist, and so you clip it closed. On top of that, you get a nice accessory."

His touch was gentle as he took each of Fionn's hands one by one, turning them over and carefully fastening the cuffs to his shirt. He was quick, efficient, but Fionn felt each glide and movement of his fingertips against the skin of his wrist like the touch of hot wires. He had never known that falling in love would make every menial interaction so…enticing. When Finnegan stepped back to admire his handiwork, Fionn attempted to resist the urge to step forward and feel the Shadowhunter's warmth beside him once more.

"If they aren't tight enough, you can adjust them like this."

Finnegan demonstrated with his own cuff links - obviously not new as Fionn's and worn like they were the only ones he'd used his entire life. Fionn tilted his head to examine them and noticed that they were little music symbols. Fionn knew he had seen them somewhere, but he couldn't recall if Finnegan had ever taught him their names.

"What are the designs upon your links?"

He blinked and looked down. "Oh. This one's a treble clef and this one's a bass clef. They're on sheet music to help you know which note you're on. Here, let me show you."

He opened a drawer in his desk and dug through it before pulling out some sheet music and opening it up. Fionn smiled and leaned over his shoulder to watch. He loved it when Finnegan got excited about teaching all he knew about music.

"So in treble clef, this line here at the bottom is an E and every space and line counts as another letter of the alphabet up to G before it repeats back to A again. So this is an E." His finger pointed to the bottom line of the staff. "And then this is an F." His finger slid up to point at the space in between the two lines. "And this line is a G, but this space here is an A, the next line being a B, and so on. You follow?"

Fionn nodded. It was simple enough.

"A good way to remember treble clef is that the lines are an acronym for 'Every good boy deserves fudge' and the spaces spell out 'Face.'"

Fionn blinked. "So they do."

"Then there's bass clef. These two dots here surround the line that's F. If you count backwards, that means that this bottom line is G. The acronym for bass clef lines is 'Good boys deserve fudge always' - or if that's too similar to treble clef, you could say 'Good boys do fine always,' but I prefer the former. Then the spaces in between have the acronym 'All cows eat grass.' And don't get me started on sharps and flats. There's a whole system _there_ too."

Fionn chuckled. "Perhaps another time. We'd best join the others lest they leave us behind."

Finnegan sighed. "I honestly wouldn't mind some alone time with you. This whole messed up situation gave you the opportunity to stay for actual _days_. That's more than we've ever had together all at once, and it's just…time is ticking away. We're busy working this case, I've got more duties as the Head of my Institute, and the Blackthorns have practically become a part of our lives. Who knows what's happening with Veon, you've got that weird god curse that we haven't even gotten _started_ on addressing beyond Selina taking that potion, and…actually, I think that's it. Did I miss anything?"

"The dilemma of my brother's heart and Mark's."

"Ah, yes. That." He sighed, twisting his cuff link in a practiced motion that appeared to be used as some kind of stress reliever. "The world is a nightmare sometimes."

Fionn turned his head to capture his lips. "Perhaps you might dispel these mares of the night. At the very least, you make my world a dream I fear the waking of."

"I can't tell if that's supposed to be a good thing."

"As is life - a blessing filled with the curse of fear."

"You get dark way too easily."

"As Lock would say, 'It takes one to know one.'"

"Touché. I mean, if I interpreted that right."

Fionn took Finnegan's wrist and examined the cuff link. "Where did you come across such links?"

He reached up and rested his hand around Fionn's, looking at his wrist solemnly. "My mom got them for me when I was little. I wanted to grow up so fast, she got me cuff links saying they were a sign of being an adult. They're made of Adamas."

Fionn chuckled. "Of course they are."

The two of them grabbed their jackets and headed out. They were at the San Francisco Institute getting ready, so they rode on Zoltan over to the Los Angeles Institute to meet up with the Blackthorns. The first thing that they heard upon entering was the pealing laughter from above. Fionn looked up to see Ty and Livvy seating along the upstairs railing of the staircase, giggling.

"Mark, what are you _wearing?_" Julian demanded.

Mark was descending the staircase when he stopped halfway down. He seemed to be wearing a long, slightly ratty fake-fur coat - and nothing else. His legs were bare, his feet were bare - actually Finnegan was 99 percent sure _all_ of his was bare except for the coat, which was fairly loose.

Mark looked puzzled. "Ty and Livvy told me this was semi-formal."

"And I told you not to trust them!" Julian snapped with an exasperated sigh.

"I have seen too much," Finnegan sighed.

"I have seen more of Mark," Fionn shrugged.

Finnegan frowned. "That's not something you say in the human world unless you're implying that you've slept with him."

"I have."

"I meant…you know what, nevermind."

Fionn paused for a moment in thought. "Oh, you meant have sexu-"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence," Finnegan warned.

Fionn simply laughed. "Humans are so bashful of their basic desires."

"You are _such_ a jerk right now," Finnegan muttered, hiding his red face in his hands.

"If it eases your worries, I have never-"

"Yes, thank you Fionn, you don't have to say anymore than that."

Emma and Cristina stood beside Julian, looking amused when they realized what had happened to get Mark in that outfit. Mark, who had been so blissfully ignorant of human customs that he genuinely believed that what he was wearing was considered semi-formal, was slightly adorable in his innocent look of confusion that it made Finnegan want to laugh despite his former embarrassment.

Emma's lips were twitching as she resisted the urge to break out into laughter. "Mark, just…" She held out a hand. Cristina was standing looking up at Mark with both her cheeks bright red, her hands clapped over her mouth. "Go back up to the landing, okay?" She turned to Julian and dropped her voice. "You have to find him something else to wear!"

"You _think?_' Julian muttered back.

Emma raised her eyes in exasperation. "Jules. Go into my room, okay? Trunk at the foot of the bed, there's some of my parents' old clothes. My dad wore a tux at his wedding. There were rune bands around the cuffs but we can rip those off."

"But your dad's tux-"

She looked up at him, sideways. "Don't worry about it."

He stared into her eyes. A dozen flecks of gold in her left eye, only seven in her right; each one like a tiny starburst. "I'll be right back," he finally announced, jogging up the stairs towards his brother.

Mark was on the landing, his arms held out in front of him as if he were examining the sleeves of his fur coat and deciding that they, in fact, were the problem. Dru, holding Tavvy's hand, had joined the twins. They were all giggling. Despite the warm mood, Finnegan could tell that Julian's mind had wandered again - he was worrying that these moments of happiness would be gone one day. What if Mark decided not to stay? What if they couldn't find the killer and he was taken back to the Wild Hunt? What if, what if, _what if?_If Mark was lost, all of the children would look back upon these happy moments with sorrow - they'd look upon many future events with sorrow as well. Losing Mark and Helen once was bad enough, losing Mark a second time when they'd had the chance to get him back? That would crush them. They were all old enough to know loss this time - even Tavvy. Finnegan knew that Julian was always thinking like that - he knew because…well, that's how he was like before, how he even still was today. Just a little bit.

"Would you say I'm overdressed or underdressed?" Mark inquired, arching his eyebrows.

Emma burst out laughing. She collapsed onto the bottom step of the staircase. A moment later, Cristina had joined her. They clutched each other, helpless with laughter. Finnegan couldn't help the laughter that escaped just from hearing _their_ laughter. It'd been a long time since he'd laughed hard enough to hurt his stomach, but Fionn looked down at him with a concerned face as he doubled over and had to lean against Fionn in order to even stay on his feet.

"I feel a sudden relief that I had companions who failed to use my ignorance of human society to my detriment."

** _-TTOT-_ **

John Carstairs' tux was black and simple. It was impossible to see where the runed bands of fabric had been snipped away; the elegant lines of it seemed to sweep upward, making Mark appear taller, more polished. For the first time since his return, every bit of the feral faerie child in him appeared to have been brushed away like cobwebs. He looked human. Like someone who'd always been human. He looked as if he might have stepped out of a catalog advertising tuxedos - if male catalog models had pointed ears.

The sight made something in Fionn's stomach drop. It was one thing to know that Mark wanted to be human along with the rest of his family, but it was another to see him _as_ a human. Fionn had gotten used to seeing Mark in ragged clothes and a wild look of countless days within the Hunt. Fionn had seen Finnegan dressed in a suit before, but he'd never been able to imagine Mark in one. Fionn knew that every moment that he watched over Mark in the human world he would be reminded of the possibility of losing him, but it still hurt even if he knew he should be prepared for it.

Fionn unconsciously moved his fingers as he tied Mark's tie. He wondered who had taught him how to do this. Lock, surely. Or perhaps Hunter. Either way, he knew how to knot another's tie. He would take a little more time to figure out the logistics if it were his own.

"Why do you bite your nails?" Mark asked, looking over Fionn's shoulder to his brother Julian.

Julian, who hadn't even been conscious that he was gnawing on the side of his thumb (the satisfying pain of skin between his teeth, the metal of the blood in his mouth) dropped his hands into his lap. "Bad habit," he answered simply.

"It's something people do when they're stressed," Mark recounted. "Even _I_ know _that_. But what do you have to be stressed about, little brother? You weren't carried away by the faeries. You've spent your life here. Not that the life of a Shadowhunter isn't stressful, but why are you the one with bloody hands?"

Julian's flinch was ever so slight. "You don't know everything about me, Mark. Just like I'm willing to bet I don't know everything about you."

Mark's blue-and-gold eyes were wide and guileless. "Ask me."

"I'd rather learn in my own time."

Fionn smoothed Mark's tie once more before stepping back. He realized that he suddenly felt like a servant again, doing his duty silently and respectfully, attempting not to draw any attention to himself as he watched the scenes before him and kept his mouth shut - which in a way, he _was_, but that didn't make him feel any better. He'd spent the former half of his life being a servant to his family, and it wasn't something he liked to recall.

"I wouldn't," Mark said. "Tell me one thing I don't know about you that makes you bite your fingers."

Julian turned toward the door, then paused, hand on the knob. "Our father…you know what happened to him?"

"He was Turned into one of the Endarkened by Sebastian Morgenstern. How could I forget?"

"And then?"

"And then?" Mark sounded puzzled. "And then he died during the Dark War."

"Yes, he died. Because I killed him."

Mark drew in his breath, shock and pity in the gasp, while Fionn's eyes merely widened a fraction. Patricide was a very dodgy subject in both faerie and the human world, it _had_ been for near all of history. Sometimes there were good reasons for it - a man could be mad and threatening his wife, child, or children's life; he could be committing heinous crimes to innocents and cannot be stopped with anything but death; he could be simply a puppet or a shadow of his former self. There was one time a woman Fionn had known was revealed to have killed her father to save her sister after he attacked them in a drunken state of madness. The man had already become a ghost, however, and all she had done was dispel his spirit. Was it really patricide? That was what was to be debated, Fionn didn't know where she was now, for she had fled with the aid of her sister and friends, and Fionn had not pursued her.

"He was coming for Ty," Julian said. "I did what I had to do."

Ah, so there _was_ much justification. Not only was Andrew Blackthorn Turned, but he was also threatening the life of his son.

"It wasn't him," Mark said swiftly.

"That's what everyone says."

Julian was still facing the door. He felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned to see Mark looking at him.

"But everyone didn't see it happen, Julian, our father being Turned. I did." Suddenly in his voice there was the sound of the older brother he had been, the one who knew more, had lived more. "The light in his eyes went out like a candle guttering in the dark. He was already dead inside. All you did was bury the body."

There was a sadness in Mark's eyes, and knowledge, the knowledge of dark things. Mark had blood on his hands too, Julian thought, and for a moment the idea was such a relief that he felt the weight on his shoulders lift incrementally.

"Thank you for the assistance," Mark said formally. "With my manner of dress. I will not trust the twins again with important matters of human tradition."

That brightened the mood from the dark and dreary setting to a more brotherly one. Julian's lip twitched at the corner, a smile threatening to overtake him.

"Yeah, I wouldn't."

Mark looked down at himself. "I am presentable?"

"You look like James Bond."

Mark smiled and Julian felt a small swell of absurd gladness rise up in his chest, that his brother had gotten the reference, that he was pleased.

Fionn followed them dutifully back toward the entryway in silence. Gods, he really _did_ feel like a servant. The silence was pierced as they reached the landing by the sound of someone shouting. Together, they were brought up short at the top of the stairs.

"Does your vision match mine, brothers?" Mark asked.

"If you mean am I seeing what _you're_ seeing…?" Julian hazarded. "Then yes, if you mean that the foyer is full of Chihuahuas."

"It's not just Chihuahuas," Ty said, sitting on the top step enjoying the spectacle. "It's a number of different small dogs of various breeds."

Fionn snorted in amusement. The foyer was, indeed, full of small dogs. They yipped and barked and surged. Fionn noticed that Finnegan was sitting in a pile of them, crooning over them like a child that he was inside.

"You are _so_ adorable! You're a good girl, minus the ankle-biting. Yes you are!"

Fionn stepped down to join him as Finnegan looked up and held a white and gray patched dog that couldn't weigh more than 7 pounds at him.

"Look at this puppy. She is the cutest!"

He took the puppy as her tail wiggled and she squirmed in his grip to try at lick him. "Hello little Yuna. You have grown. Last I witnessed you were around a kilogram lighter."

The puppy barked and he let her lick his chin before setting her down with the other dogs.

"You know her name?" Finnegan asked.

"Anselm Nightshade and I are acquainted. I assisted in the adoption of his latest comrade: the puppy you were so fond of."

"I'm fond of _all_ of them, Fionn. What's this guy's name?"

He pointed to a small poodle-like dog who was just slightly bigger than Yuna. "She's named Aslaug. She's about half a decade old, if I recall correctly. Aurum and Argentum often enjoy the opportunity to interact with-"

As if taking their names as permission, the two hounds suddenly appeared at Fionn's side and charged into the fray to play with the puppies. Finnegan was incidentally caught in the wave of excitement as all of the dogs greeted Fionn's hounds and he laughed as he attempted to extract himself.

"Your big bad hounds are just sweethearts on the inside, eh?"

Fionn sighed. "I spoil them, it's true."

"Don't worry about the dogs," Julian announced, coming down the stairs. "Nightshade likes to stash them in the entryway when he meets with Uncle Arthur."

"Nightshade?" Mark's eyebrows went up. "_Anselm_ Nightshade? The head of the Los Angeles vampire clan?"

"Yep," Julian said. "He comes around sometimes. He and Arthur get along surprisingly well."

"And the dogs…?"

"He likes dogs," Fionn shrugged.

Ty looked to one of the Chihuahuas that had fallen asleep by the front door, all four paws in the air. "That dogs looks dead."

"Aurum?" Fionn asked. The hound gave a bark in his direction. "It isn't dead. It's relaxing."

Ty seemed amused; Julian ruffled his brother's hair. Ty leaned into it, catlike.

"Where are Emma and Cristina?" Julian asked.

"They went to bring the car around," Ty said. "And Livvy went back to her room. Why can't I come with you?"

"Too many of us will look suspicious," Julian said. "You'll have to stay here - guard the Institute."

Ty looked unconvinced. He frowned after them as Mark and Julian hurried out the front doors.

"I feel kinda bad," Finnegan admitted as he and Fionn walked after the brothers.

"You cannot always appease siblings when their interests conflict with yours," Fionn said.

"I mean, we're taking Cristina, you, and me. That's probably three positions that Ty, Livvy, and Dru could fill should we be so inclined."

"Cristina Rosales, you, and I are older and wiser and we may yet be able to improvise should the night go awry - which I highly suspect it might. We must be the adults in a band of children, and I would prefer less underaged humans to guard than more."

"You have a point."

The car was pulled up in front of the Institute, the engine idling.

Emma pushed the passenger-side door open and whistled. "Mark. You look amazing."

Mark glanced down at himself, surprised. Cristina was in the backseat, also looking at Mark. Her expression was unreadable.

"It seems many find Mark attractive in his current garb," Fionn commented.

He whistled for his horse and climbed aboard as the horse complained about something. Finnegan jumped on behind him and Zoltan began to trot in circles.

"It appears he does not appreciate our attire as the humans do."

Finnegan snickered. "It sounds like him."

The horse whinnied and clopped its hoof. Fionn's eyes narrowed. "He is more fond of you than his master."

Finnegan snickered again. "Well, at least you're honest about it and not petty levels of jealous."

"I know of our destination. We shall lead the charge."

Emma patted the seat beside her. In the dimness of the car, she was a shadow: white dress, golden hair, like a faded illustration in a children's picture book. "Hop in, Jules. You're mine - my navigator."

He slid into the seat beside hers and they were off.

* * *

**Chapter title: "_Stand By You_" by Rachel Platten**


	12. Many Things I'd Say If Only I Were Able

**What? A regular update schedule you say? Summer is almost over and you have failed to write much you say? Yeah, about that…**

**The school year's about to start and it's going to be even busier than last year because I'm like "I NEED TO START BEING A SOCIAL NUT AND INTERACT WITH CLUBS AND SCHOOL EVENTS AND HEY AP CLASSES ARE FUN, LET'S DO A FEW OF THOSE ON TOP OF IT ALL!" I'm still pretty ahead in the written chapters, but I'm slowly catching up. All my ideas are in Lord of Shadows, by gods we need to get there soon.**

**This chapter's got a taste of what I really _want_ to do for my actual plotline, but of course, we gotta get der first. :\**

**Side note: we've officially reached**** the same amount of pages that made up the first story and we're still nowhere near the end. Haha :|**

**Enjoy if there's anyone out there reading this! :)**

* * *

Apparently the Blackthorns had a cursed GPS, which led to Zoltan having to lead the way. Emma had tried to input the address when they'd gotten into the Toyota, but it had refused to turn on. Once, the GPS had only spoken in a heavy German accent for weeks. Julian had decided it was possessed. Not to mention that Emma's driving skills combined with Zoltan's recklessness had Cristina thrown into Mark multiple times in the back seat and she appeared very distressed about it, as she was subtly leaning away from Mark. Mark didn't seem to have noticed. He was staring out his open window, blond hair ruffled, humming tunelessly. They were also a little late, so apparently that was more than enough of an excuse to bypass speed limits.

All of the houses were dark, though it seemed much too early for everyone to have gone to sleep. Finnegan didn't have a lot of time to worry about that as they approached the theater. There were hot neon and electric lights up ahead, the arrow shape of a sign: **THE MIDNIGHT THEATER**. The Hollywood Hills glittered in the distance as if they'd been dusted with starlight. Everything else was dark, even the streetlights. As they neared the theater, the sides of the street became more thickly packed with parked cars. Expensive ones - BMWs, Porsches, Italian sports cars whose names Finnegan didn't care to remember. Fionn and Finnegan dismounted as Zoltan continued forward and zapped away. Emma pulled into a spot across from the theater and killed the engine.

The others grabbed weapons from the trunk of the car and applied new runes, making sure to keep them covered and make sure they weren't recognized as Shadowhunters. The girls had used makeup to cover most of their permanent runes that could be seen with their dresses and the shimmering afterimages of former runes as well. Mark continued to insist on no runes, and this time, Julian didn't protest. Cristina reached up to muss Mark's hair, spilling the curls down to cover his pointed ears. Fionn was simply wearing a fedora, which was much better than the weird hat Finnegan had once loaned him during one of their first missions together.

"There's nothing we can do about the eyes, but-"

"Mundanes have heterochromia too," Finnegan pointed out.

"I can temporarily disguise my eyes should they be such a drastic issue," Fionn volunteered.

Emma shrugged. "I mean, your eyes _are_ a little more unnatural than Mark's. Mundanes can have blue and green eyes, but black and silver…"

"We could just use the excuse that you're using contacts to look cool," Finnegan jumped in. "There's no need to waste your magic."

"The process saps no magic." As he was staring at Finnegan, his eyes shifted, instantly morphing from silver and black to blood red, like rubies. "Eyes are merely the windows of the soul, not the doors, dear Finnegan. Thrice have I the change of my soul, thrice born am I again. I lie not with words but with all else."

"Okay, the main thing you need to remember is to try to _act_ normal," Julian said.

Mark looked affronted. "Do I ever not?"

No one answered that, not even Cristina.

Fionn pulled off his fedora and ran his fingers through his hair before replacing it. "I have many lessons from my Warlock. Let us play the part."

After sliding a pair of daggers into the shoulder harness under his shirt, Julian slammed the trunk closed, and they headed across the street. The doors of the theater were thrown open. Light spilled out onto the dark pavement. They could hear laughter and music, smell the mingled scents of perfume and wine and smoke. At the door a young woman in a slinky red dress was taking tickets and stamping hands. Her hair was done up in forties-style Victory roll curls, and her lips were blood red. She wore ivory satin gloves that reached her elbows.

"I've seen her before," Emma whispered to Julian. "Shadow Market."

He smiled at the ticket girl, a little bored, a little arrogant, a lot entitled - someone who wasn't worried about getting inside at all. He was playing a role, taking Emma's hand to her slight surprise before she realized what he was doing.

They decided that the four members of the Los Angeles Institute would get in first, while Fionn would have his own method of getting inside with Finnegan.

"Mr. Smith, plus three guests," Julian said smoothly, holding out their ticket.

There was a slight commotion as Mark opened his mouth, doubtless to ask who Mr. Smith was, and Cristina stomped on his foot. The ticket girl smiled, her red lips curving up into a bow, and slowly tore the ticket in half. If she recognized Emma, she didn't show it.

"_Mr._ Smith," she said. "Hold out your hand."

Julian offered his free hand, and the ticket girl stamped it with red-black ink. The stamp was an odd little symbol, lines of water underneath a flame. "The performance is running a bit late tonight. You'll find your row and seat numbers have appeared on your ticket. Please don't sit in anyone else's seat." Her gaze went to Mark - a sharp, intent, assessing gaze. "And welcome. I believe you will find the Followers a…sympathetic group."

Mark looked baffled.

Hands stamped and ticket torn, the four of them trailed into the theater leaving Fionn and Finnegan next. Finnegan began to grow worried, realizing that they didn't have a ticket and he didn't know Fionn's supposed method of getting in, and this woman clearly wasn't just mundane based on the fact that Emma recognized her from the Shadow Market and she easily identified Mark as fey.

Fionn didn't look deterred as he stared her in the eye with a smile and opened his mouth to speak, but instead of hearing his voice, Finnegan was surprised to hear another person shout instead.

"_There_ you idiots are!"

Finnegan jumped from the loud voice as he looked into the hall. Above the loud music, a man's voice had boomed out, but the source was not what Finnegan expected. The man who was staring at the two of them was tall and thin, dressed in a velvet, violet tux. His hair was a soft lavender color, peeking out from beneath a black beret. '_Did he look French?_' Finnegan wondered. What did French people even _look_ like?

"This is what I get for letting you meet me here. I waited half an hour for you idiots and decided to just go in by myself. It took you long enough. And I bet you lost your ticket, too, so _I'm_ the only way you're getting in, and therefore you're going to owe me."

"These two are with you?" the ticket lady asked.

"Sadly. Get stamped and get in here. Let them in, lady."

He stared at her in the eyes and she straightened up, not saying another word as she stamped their hands and waved for them to go through. It was almost creepy how she was persuaded, and there was no doubt foul play. The moment they crossed the threshold, the music rose to deafening levels. It was some kind of big-band jazz ensemble that Finnegan's mother had loved. There was a concession stand, selling popcorn and candy, and a sign reading **DANCE HALL/THEATER** hung over the stand, pointing left. People in fancy dress were moving excitedly down the hallway - including Emma, Julian, Mark, and Cristina. Everywhere were beautiful people, the kind of Hollywood beautiful that was pretty common in Los Angeles: people who had access to gyms and tanning salons and expensive hairdressers and the best clothes. Here they looked as if they'd dressed as extras for a Rat Pack movie. Silk dresses and seamed stockings, fedoras and skinny ties and peaked lapels.

"Who are _you_ supposed to be?" Finnegan demanded to the stranger.

He pulled them over to the side of the hall so they could speak hopefully over the loud noise. He sighed and pulled off his beret, running his hands through his hair, which Finnegan realized had a pair of antenna sticking out of them.

"I hate my life," he sighed. "Anyway, what the _hell_ are you doing here?!"

He directed the question at Fionn, his body completely turned so that he was only facing Fionn like Finnegan wasn't even there.

"Hello?! I'm _right here!_" Finnegan snapped.

The man finally turned to stare down at him. He was significantly taller than Finnegan, towering half a head even over Fionn with his long, thin body. His eyes, now up close, shimmered with a lavender glow like some kind of anime character. He looked young, maybe Finnegan's age, but it was hard to tell if he was a teenager or an adult.

"I don't _care_, mortal. Wait." He pointed at Finnegan and redirected his gaze to Fionn. "This is your angel boyfriend, isn't it? Man, he's shorter than I thought."

"I am _not_ short! _You_ are just freakishly tall!"

"Please," Fionn said. "He requested your name."

The man sighed heavily. He took his beret in his hand before sweeping his arm out and pulling it in front of his torso, bowing his head.

"I am Falorios, twelfth son of the Lepidopterians." He stood straight again. "And sadly the unfortunate soul who's stuck with _you_ today, Phoenix."

Fionn blinked. "Fal…Falorios. That…that name…"

Falorios crossed his arms. "Wow, so the rumors were true. You really _have_ lost all your memories. Anyway, where's Seline? I thought she was guarding you. Artemis told me that she was insisting on staying with you despite the risk. The girl's got some balls, I'll give her that."

"Selina's somewhere else, looking after a friend of ours," Finnegan interjected.

"Ah, yes, that's right. Andreaus mentioned something like that."

"Andreaus?"

"A Helian. Nevermind. He put out an alert that his wife had gone missing. Apparently I'm the only one willing to go and seek her out. The Astral world is in complete disarray without an Infernian leader, Phoenix. As much as I hate to say it, we need you."

"What am I to do?"

He rolled his eyes. "Ugh, this is gonna be _so_ annoying to explain. I almost miss it when you were your usual self."

"Who are you to me? How might I solve the woes of the Astral realm?"

"I'm Falorios, I told you, a Lepidopterian."

"What's that?" Finnegan demanded.

"A moth god!" Falorios snapped. "Oh, for the Hexatheon's sake! I'm a bug god who wants absolutely _nothing_ to do with the Infernian line, but ever since the Ifrit War where the Infernian leader Ifrit went on some rampage because he was cursed or something, the entire Astral world is thinking about voting you guys out of the tribe - _all_ of you! They'd keep a few as slaves just to keep the world spinning since we kinda need heat to survive, but overall, the balance to the universe is _seriously_ knocked off course if we don't find someone to replace Ifrit and fast! Phoenix is the next candidate since Brynhildr doesn't want to take up the mantle, and Phoenix is the only one who can-"

"What does Brynhildr have to do with this?" Fionn demanded.

"She's your bloody _sire_, idiot!"

"Sire means she would be my father, and Brynhildr is not my father."

"No, that's not-! Argh! Sire means she's the one who made you into an Astral! Forget it! I'm not going to spout the entire Astral history to you! I'm only here because Andreaus is a Helian and therefore a descendant of the Infernian line and therefore being shunned by half the Astral world that thinks all Infernians are tainted since Ifrit was taken by that curse or Scourge or whatever. Thanks to me and my stupidly good heart, I came looking for his wife when he reported her missing, and instead, I run into _you_, Phoenix! Ugh, why _me?!_"

"You and I have some history, do we not?" Fionn asked.

"Oh, yeah, _plenty_ of it, and most of our history consists of you being an absolute _asshole!_ I don't understand why Seline was willing to forgive you - sure you're a puny ball of pity right now, but she hates your _guts!_ Plus you stole her man, so she should be going off the rails. She caused a tsunami last time you two got into an argument. I don't know _how_ she just suddenly finds you _likable_."

"Seline and I possess a turbulent history, yes."

"Look, Phoenix, I'm gonna be honest with you, I've wanted you dead for ages now, but there are some actual _nice_ Infernians out there that you are the only one who can save. And right now, I have to freaking _protect_ you and your angel boy just because we've crossed paths. All because Brynhildr did me that _stupid_ favor and now I owe her. Never thought that when she said 'If you ever find Phoenix you're to protect him' that I'd ever be the one in _millions_ of bug Astrals to get stuck doing this. Not that many of the Bug Astrals like you Infernians too much. Some are all wise sages like 'We _need_ fire for some totally symbolic meaning,' but in all honesty we just hate you guys. Just be warned, the bugs are coming after you. And also some birds - Aves can be a bitch, honestly. Anyway, we should get moving. I still need to find Andy's wife. You coming with?"

"Hey! Wait! We have more questions!" Finnegan protested.

"Then you'd better stay close!" Falorios called, sauntering forward into the crowd.

There was a moment of confusion from Finnegan as Falorios failed to replace his beret and hide his antenna as he joined the crowd. It took Finnegan a moment to realize that _everyone_ there was some kind of supernatural, none of them were mundanes, none at all. Throughout the crowd, there was a pointed ear here, a flash of orange eyes or taloned fingernails there.

The theater/dance hall was elegant, with a pressed copper ceiling, arched windows, and closed doors marked **THEATER LEFT** and **THEATER RIGHT**. A rug had been rolled back for dancing, and couples were swirling together to the sound of a band playing on a raised stage at the end of the room. Finnegan recognized trombones, trumpets, drums, an upright bass, and a piano. There was a clarinet player too, who took his lips away from the instrument long enough to grin at the entering guests. He had auburn curls, and there was something odd about his eyes.

"He is faerie," Fionn said. "At least in part."

"Don't tell me you came here not even knowing what this _was_," Falorios groaned.

"We came to find out _what_ it was," Finnegan corrected.

"Right. And a Shadowhunter is the _safest_ creature here. Then again, you _are_ blessed by the Astrals, so I guess you get a bit of a pass."

One of the woodwind players, a woman, rose her eyes to them and suddenly stood up, muttering something to her fellow players before rushing in their direction. She instantly ran up to Finnegan and grabbed his hand abruptly, shaking it with a tight grip.

"Oh my gods, it's _you!_ You're really _here!_ I can't believe it! Well, I _can_ believe it, but I never thought it'd be so soon!"

"Laura, calm down," Falorios ordered. "He's not an Astral yet. Or even aware of his origins."

She instantly released him and took a step back. "Ah! Whoops!"

She suddenly disappeared. A moment later, she reappeared at her place on the stage and took up her flute again. She jumped as though she remembered something and looked to Falorios, a silent conversation happening in their locked gazes. He gave her a deadpan face before sighing and looking to Finnegan.

"She says to come and play a song when you're available."

"Come on, newbies!" the auburn-haired clarinetist shouted, and a sudden spotlight shone down on the group of Shadowhunters ahead of them - aka Julian, Emma, Mark, and Cristina. "Get into the swing of things!"

Finnegan realized that his eyes were like a goat's, with square black pupils. He was part satyr.

"_Dance!_" he shouted, and the others in the room whooped and clapped.

Julian quickly pulled Cristina into the crowd to dance rather than his parabatai, leaving Emma and Mark to dance together instead.

"Come on!" the flutist Laura exclaimed, suddenly appearing right behind Finnegan.

She grabbed his shoulder and suddenly he found his perception completely changing. He was now standing on the stage beside her as she raised her flute - a very simple wooden cylinder with holes in it, old and worn, but with an air of magic as she played. He suddenly felt compelled to draw his violin and began to play an upbeat tune with the rest of the instrument players, and Laura laughed as she released her instrument from her lips.

"You're a natural already! I can't wait to be working with you in the future once you join up, Finnegan."

Finn didn't even know what he was doing as his hands played a tune that he was unfamiliar with but it flowed through him, but he felt a bounce in his step as he began to dance. He realized that it was some kind of enchantment, a faerie thing that could range anywhere from a simple dance he was compelled to do to being stuck infinitely playing and dancing.

"Oh you are _not_ making me dance with my ex, Laura!" Falorios snapped.

Fionn wondered if he knew that he could barely be heard over the large crowd and the tune that was now playing with Finnegan's assistance.

"We had romantic relations?" Fionn translated.

Falorios scoffed. "As _if!_ You were the _worst_, most _conceited_, _asshole_ of a husband in _existence!_ And now I have to _protect_ you rather than push you down another well!"

Fionn could only blink at that remark. "You…pushed me down a well."

Falorios shrugged. "It was the nearest thing that I could push you into. Just my luck that you end up becoming Phoenix and an immortal pain in my ass when you died."

"Seline mentioned you and I must have history from beyond being Astrals."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. _History_. And I'd like to keep it that way."

"Who was I to you?"

"An _asshole_, was that not made clear?"

"I am not what you speak of at present, so I ask you to consider that I know naught of your Phoenix."

He stared at Fionn for a long time before scoffing and sighing. "Whatever. I'm still not dancing with you."

"So we shall draw eyes then."

Falorios held out for a solid minute and twenty seconds. "Fine, but when it comes down to it, I'm the man."

"I know female steps to dances human or fey," Fionn said simply.

They began to dance, and Falorios seemed surprised that Fionn could easily keep up and follow the steps. Fionn wanted to make conversation, but he wondered if it was appropriate. Falorios clearly showed his disdain, and Fionn's broken memories of Phoenix showed that this hatred was centuries old. Fionn knew that Falorios was only protecting him because he was some kind of hope to the Infernians, he'd gotten that. For some reason, it sounded familiar. Perhaps Brynhildr had told him when he was a child when she weaved the tales of the Astrals to him. And she herself was an Astral as well, it seemed. Seline had said something about that a while ago, hadn't she? Before Fionn had begun to lose himself to the curse of the Scourge because of her presence. Then again…if Falorios was an Astral as well-

"I am afflicted with the curse known as the Scourge," Fionn said out of the blue.

Falorios tensed for a moment before relaxing again. "But you've figured out how to become immune to it."

"I…I have not."

"Really? Well, if so, then we're all screwed. The whole point of making you the next Infernian in Ifrit's place is because you're immune to the Scourge. Ifrit fell victim to the Scourge not too long ago and since he's the main man - Infernian of the Hexatheon - all of his descendants of the Infernian line are said to be tainted. With his power, he was nearly able to destroy the Astral world and he's left it really scarred even though he was stopped. Putting you in charge when you're guaranteed immune is our only hope of convincing the rest of the Hexatheon that you're not a threat and that you can fix this whole mess."

"Rumors have you of my immunity? Or is this knowledge fact?"

"I mean, _I've_ only heard rumors, but those rumors state that your power is fact. Somehow you became immune. We don't know all the details when you went to confront Ifrit, but your immunity was a key factor. Anyone else who went to confront him was always taken over. And your little angel boy was immune just because he wasn't an Astral. A lot of people are confused as to why you didn't make him into an Astral, but keeping him mortal was actually really beneficial."

"I have become subject to its dangers in the past. I am not immune, though I cannot claim to understand how I misplaced my wits and then regained them."

"Well the fact that you can regain your wits after falling victim at all means that you're stronger than the rest of us. Most of the time, there's no going back. I've seen a lot of my friends fall victim, many more falling simply in an attempt to get them back."

"You have my sympathies."

"I don't need your pity. We just need your power to stop all this madness - first the political aspects with the Hexatheon, second the chaos of the witches or whatever they're supposed to be."

"Witches?"

He sighed. "Nevermind, that's a problem for another day. Let's just say that the Scourge came from them."

"You have little fear in the face of your insanity," Fionn noted.

He shrugged. "I'm just a moth god. What harm can a moth god really do beyond scaring you a bit? Some moths don't have mouths, and while the moths themselves only last a day or even just a few hours, their Astrals are eternal and creepy. Moths are harmless beyond being annoying, so I'm not really concerned about what I could do."

"A large swarm can do much harm, I should think."

He shrugged, refusing to look at Fionn. "I knew the moment I was made a moth god that I was doomed to be just an obscure nobody, as most of us are. At the very least I had the power to be my own person, be who I really was. It's a quiet life, a peaceful one. And I get to be who I want to be, so that's a bonus too."

"I was your husband, you said…you were a woman."

Falorios shoved Fionn away. "It doesn't matter. We have work to do. Let's go. The show's starting."

He stormed away, Fionn standing still for a moment as he watched the Astral retreat. He would later wish he had spoken up about his sympathetic situation, but for the moment he remained quiet and moved with the crowd, working to not lose Falorios in the tide of people.

* * *

"You're pretty good," Laura commented.

"Thanks," Finnegan sighed.

He was just relieved that the song and dance had come to an end and he wasn't stuck going on and on performing for eternity - or at least the rest of the night.

"I'm Laura, in case it wasn't obvious, but unfortunately it's too early in our time for us to become properly acquainted. I'll see you soon, Finnegan."

She waved and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Finnegan to seek out everyone else. Cristina had ended up dancing with some random guy - looked like he was probably about twenty-five, nattily dressed in a herringbone suit and matching fedora, bleached blonde hair, expensive-looking shoes with red soles that flashed fire as he walked, and a gaudy pink cocktail ring glittering on his middle finger. Julian and Emma had ended up dancing together instead, meaning that Mark and Fionn and that Fal-whatever guy were the only ones left. Upon asking Julian and Emma, he learned that the random guy dancing with Cristina had said he was a 'Blue' and had a matching ticket to Ava's that had been a pale shade of blue so for some reason that meant Cristina was obligated to dance with him.

"Mark ran off towards the coat-check," Emma explained. "Vaulted right over the counter of the coat-check station."

"I'll go look for him. Try not to draw anymore eyes than you already have."

He headed out. As a slow song began, Finnegan looked back and saw the clarinetist winking at Emma and Julian, who had moved to the edge of the room in order to try and be less noticed. It seems that plan had failed. As parabatai, they were the perfect dance partners, able to easily predict the other's motions from the subtlest of clues that only parabatai could possibly pick up on, or two people who knew each other better than anything for all their lives - both definitions suiting those two.

"Sorry, did a friend of mine come this way?" Finnegan asked the bored-looking coat-check girl perched on the counter.

She was smoking a cigarette out of a silver holder. Finnegan didn't like smoking. Mundanes were so annoying when they smoked so much that he could barely walk down the street without feeling like he couldn't breathe. She gave a small amused smile before it faded and she just nodded behind her.

"Go on ahead."

He headed into the cloakroom. Just as he was walking in, he instinctively reached out and gripped something. It was a person, Finn realized, pulling hard and using their momentum to throw them back into the coatroom.

"Let him go, Finnegan."

Finn turned to see Fionn following behind him into the coatroom. When he looked into the darkness once more for the figure he'd caught, they were gone.

"Who was that?" Finn asked. "Was that Mark?"

"I am here," Mark announced, coming out from behind a coat rack. His fair hair looked as if he'd been standing in front of a wind machine.

Fionn stepped forward with a bored expression. "My brother's scent is heavy in the air, along with the smell suggesting he and Mark-"

"Is the celebration continuing?" Mark asked.

"So far, but they're soon to make an announcement that they're ready to go," Finnegan said.

"Then we should make haste."

Finnegan laughed as they followed Mark out of the cloakroom. The bored girl didn't say anything and just nodded at them as they passed. Falorios was waiting outside with his arms crossed and a scowl.

"Oh, good, you're not all having some party," he drawled. "Let's hurry. They did the whole cymbal thing to announce everyone into the theater - I'm sure that was Laura, honestly, she loves to make a scene. Here, this is my modified ticket. I already have a plus one, so I worked some magic to get you two seats as well. Look for a girl named Max. She's Val's sister and Laura's girlfriend. PS, she can read minds and make stuff move with her mind. No biggie."

He turned and walked off, leaving the three of them to follow. They had to hurry to keep up with his quick pace since his height meant that he could take bigger steps and he was some kind of god so it wasn't surprising that he was fast without needing to be fast. It didn't help when the moment they reached the doors to the theater he exploded into a swarm of glowing purple moths which all scattered like their lives depended on it. Only a single moth remained, leading them forward at the same pace that Falorios had been walking.

"O…kay then," Finnegan muttered.

They rushed to meet up with the others who had taken their seats in a semicircular space. The seats were upholstered in purple velvet, each with a gold _M_ embroidered across the back. Reading the ticket, Finnegan led them to their seats which Falorios was smart enough to make beside Julian and the others. Cristina, Emma, and Julian were sitting in that order, with Mark slipping in beside Julian before then Finnegan and Fionn. Mark's flustered state had yet to wear off, which prompted a long glance from his fellow Shadowhunters.

"Don't tell me," Julian said finally. "I don't want to know."

Mark looked surprised. "You don't? I would."

"I _do_," Emma chimed in.

"How about we don't?" Finnegan sighed. "When's the show starting?"

"I assume once the rest of the crowd finds their seats," Julian said.

"M for '_Midnight?_'" Emma guessed, pointing at the seat backs.

"Probably," Julian said, and went back to looking at the stage.

The curtains were drawn back and a massive painting of an ocean view covered the back wall. The stage itself was bare, the floor gleaming polished boards. Emma stared at Julian in a mystified way showing that she had seen something only a parabatai could notice on the face of their partner. Meanwhile, Cristina was glaring across the theater, her eyes glued to the man in the herringbone suit that she had been forced to dance with. He was seating himself next to an elegant blond woman in a silver dress and high heels.

"Ugh," Cristina grumbled. "I practically had to peel him off me. What a pervert. My mother would just have stabbed him."

"Do you want us to kill him?" Emma suggested, only half-joking. "We could kill him, after the show."

"That would be a waste of our energy," Cristina said dismissively. "I'll tell you what I found out: He is a half werewolf. And he's been a member of the Followers - that's what he called them - for six months now. That's what he meant by being a Blue."

"The fact that he's been a Follower for a long time, or the fact that he's part lycanthrope?" Julian asked.

"Both, I think. He went to great pains to tell me _all_ about what it meant to be part werewolf. How he's stronger and faster than a human. He says he could kick through a brick wall." She rolled her eyes.

"I don't even get it," Emma said. "How do you wind up being _half_-werewolf?"

"It means you have the werewolf virus, but it's dormant," Finnegan explained. "You can pass it on, but you can't Turn yourself. You'll never change into a wolf, but you do have increased speed and strength."

"He said they _all_ have increased speed and strength," Cristina said. "Every time they hold a Lottery, he said, the Followers all get stronger."

"Sympathetic magic," Julian said.

A woman with short brown hair that went down to about halfway between her chin and her shoulders, freckles dotting her face, wearing a simple blue dress that went to her knees with sleeves she could put her thumbs through and matching wedge tennis shoes sat in the seat next to Fionn. Her outfit looked less semi-formal than a dress she randomly picked up at Target that matched her shoes. The little moth that Ace had left with them flew off of Fionn's shoulder and onto her, and she stared at the stage, as though listening to a voice in her ear.

"Ah, okay," she said, before turning to face their row of Shadowhunters and Fionn. "Hi, I'm Maxine Kana-Shisou Yaru, but call me Max. I'm Val's sister. I'm here with Falorios and Laura. Don't mind me. I guess I'm looking after you two now."

She motioned to Fionn and Finnegan.

"Oh, uh…cool," Finnegan said.

She chuckled. "It's okay. You don't need to care much about me. I'll just be here on my mission, you'll be here on yours. If we happen to help each other, so be it."

Before Fionn could say anything in response to her, the lights in the theater dimmed. Silence fell instantly - not the slow hush of voices that one might have expected, but an abrupt, unnatural cessation of noise. A shiver passed up the back of Finnegan's neck just as a single spotlight lit of the stage. The band had gathered in the orchestra pit - Laura along with them - and began to play a quiet melody, almost mournful, as a black-velvet-draped object was wheeled out onto the stage by two uniformed men.

The music faded, and there was the tap-tap of high heels; a moment later, the woman who had been taking tickets at the door appeared. She had changed and was wearing a gorgeous full-length dress of black and dark blue lace that looked like foam on the ocean. Even at a distance, the dark kohl liner ringing her eyes could be seen. The woman reached out a hand, the nails painted viper red, and seized hold of the black velvet, tearing it aside and hurling it dramatically to the floor. Revealed underneath was a machine. A large transparent drum sat atop a metal plinth; inside the glass were hundreds of colored number balls. A metal chute stuck out from the machine, and in front of the chute was a tray.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the woman onstage. "I'm Belinda Belle."

"'Belinda Belle'?" Julian whispered. "Made-up name."

"You're a genius detective," Emma whispered back. "Genius."

He made a face at her and Emma seemed to relax. This was her and Julian, making faces at each other, making each other laugh. That was normal.

The woman on the stage continued, "Welcome to the Lottery."

The room was silent. Belinda smiled, resting her hand on the device, perfectly still.

"The lottery machine," murmured Julian. "_That's_ literal."

"The Guardian could not be with us tonight," Belinda said. "Security has required tightening. The last hunt was interrupted by Nephilim, and the value of the sacrifices was endangered."

There was a low hum. It shouldn't be surprising that these people knew about Nephilim, that what they had been suspecting all along was true. There was something going on here, something that reached its threaded tendrils into the Downworld and clawed at the roots of everything they knew.

"The sacrifice?" Emma whispered. "Does she mean _human_ sacrifice?"

Julian shushed her by writing on her arm in their little coded language.

"However, the Guardian did send an envoy. May I introduce Valaeyasha Ragnbjörg."

"Val!" Max hissed quietly.

The woman that must've been Val walked onto the stage. She was wearing a black dress that went down to her feet and just barely brushed the floor as she walked. Her hair was half up with a braid and half down with a cascade of black hair. The clips and pins in her hair were black but they sparkled as the stage light reflecting off of them. Around her neck was a black choker - or perhaps some kind of collar. There was the sound of clicking heels as she made her way over to Belinda, her face not blank, but almost determined, as though she was walking to face a great opponent.

"The Guardian sends his regards for his absence," Val said flatly. "Now let us begin."

The music picked up. Onstage, Val pressed a button on the side of the machine. The metal arms whirred to life, the balls spun around inside the globe, becoming a blur of color like the inside of a kaleidoscope. The machine whirred more quickly, then more quickly still, and spit out a red ball. It shot down the shute and fell into the tray. Val picked it up delicately, her expression never wavering. A tense stillness had fallen over the crowd. It was the stillness of a cat poised to spring.

"Blue," she said, her voice ringing in the silence. "Blue 304."

The moment hung, frozen and suspended. It was broken by a man rising to his feet. He moved warily, like a statue brought to sudden and reluctant life. It was the man Cristina had danced with, the one in the herringbone suit. He was very pale now, and the woman next to him in the silver dress was edging away from him.

"Mr. Sterling," Belinda said as Val let the ball fall back into the tray with a clink. "The Lottery has chosen you."

The audience sat stonily, most expressionless, some wearing looks of relief. The man in the herringbone suit - Sterling - seemed dazed, as if he'd been punched in the solar plexus and was about to gasp in air.

"You know the rules," Belinda said. "Mr. Sterling has two days of freedom before the hunt begins. No one may help him. No one may interfere with the hunt." Her eyes searched the audience. "May Those Who Are Older grant us all good fortune."

The music started up again. Everyone began to rise to their feet, the room filling with buzz of low conversation. Max shot to her feet before she went invisible. Finnegan blinked, but as he looked to Fionn he realized that the faerie was following something with his eyes, a path above the seats and above the crowd over to the stage.

"Fionn?" he asked.

"They are going to Lady Valaeyasha Ragnbjörg," Fionn informed him.

Emma, meanwhile, was on her feet like a shot, but Julian's hand closed around her arm before she could bolt out of the room. He was smiling; it looked clearly fake to her but would probably convince anyone who didn't know him.

"They're going to kill him," Emma whispered urgently. "Everything she said - the _hunt_-"

"We don't know that," Julian said without moving his lips.

"Emma is right," Mark said. "A hunt means death."

"The stories about the Lottery are about a person being chosen to die," Finnegan agreed. "I would bet this Lottery isn't any different."

"There is no denying the death that looms," Fionn said. "This is no concupiscible event to behold."

They were hurrying forward, pushed towards the exits by the mass of the crowd. The band was playing "As Time Goes By" from _Casablanca_, the sweet melody completely incongruous with the sense of anxiety whipping through the room. Fionn saw that Laura had climbed out of the orchestra pit not through the stairs but through the open pit itself (probably invisible to anyone without Astral eyes) and Max had just reached Val with Falorios's butterfly on her shoulder. He reappeared in a large gathering of moths (once again invisible considering their confrontation of Val didn't draw any eyes) as the three of them attempted to shake her and snap her out of her daze. She appeared to be talking to them, but her words didn't appear to make them very happy considering Max started shaking her by her shoulders.

"We have to offer him help," Cristina said, her tone flat.

"Even if he _is_ a pervert," Emma confirmed. "It's what we do-"

"You heard the rules," Julian said. "No interfering."

Emma spun around, stopping dead. Her eyes met Julian's. "Those rules," she said, and took his hand, her fingers moving over his skin. _T-H-E-Y D-O-N-T A-P-P-L-Y T-O U-S_.

"Even if _we're_ willing to break the rules, I doubt that _he_ is," Finnegan stated.

Julian stared at Emma for a long moment before darkness blossomed in his blue-green irises - an admission of defeat. "Once your life's on the line, you become a little more inclined to break the rules to save yourself." He nodded to Emma. "Go. Take Cristina."

Emma caught Cristina's hand and the two of them were shoving through the crowd, Emma using her elbows and boots - stomping viciously on several feet - to push past the other theatergoers.

"We'll meet up with them at the car," Julian announced, leading the way through the crowd with Mark and Finnegan following behind diligently.

Though the plan hadn't been spoken out loud, Finnegan understood Emma and Julian's parabatai connection and how they knew each other's plans without even thinking about it. Fionn, meanwhile, was still gazing at the stage where Val was attempting to walk away, but Laura was stopping her by planting her feet while Max spoke to her. Falorios simply watched, looking around and making sure no one was able to see them just in case some Astrals were in the crowd other than Fionn. He impulsively went in the wrong direction as their group reached the aisle, heading down to the stage despite Finnegan's protests.

"What has occurred?" he asked just loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

Falorios looked down at Fionn before looking back to the girls. "We leave, _now_."

"I don't understand why it's not _working_," Max exclaimed.

"Can you get her to follow us?"

"Maybe? Her mind's in there it's just not…not _working_."

"Then _make_ it work. We need to get out of here."

Max closed her eyes for a moment, resting her hands on her sister's temples, before then opening her eyes and taking a step back. "Okay, I think I've got it."

"Then let's go."

Fionn climbed up on the stage and jumped over the orchestra pit to follow after them as they exited the stage. He followed them out the back door of the theater as Val blankly walked after them. They ended up in a back alley, the commotion of the exiting guests a dull roar in the distance.

"So what's the plan now?" Falorios asked.

"We get her back to Andy, for one," Max said.

"And where's _he?_"

"At a warlock's place. Zyta-something."

"Zytaveon?" Fionn volunteered.

"Yeah, that was it."

"You know the way?" Laura asked.

"Yes, he is a comrade of mine," Fionn agreed.

"Then can you take us there?"

"I have to watch over you anyway," Falorios sighed. "Let's go see Andreaus and report our…success."

"There they are! Over here!"

"Phoenix is here!"

"That's really him?"

"There's no mistaking it."

Fionn turned to the voices with his Io forming in his hand. Falorios cursed and grabbed Fionn's wrist, dragging him away before he could attack the hostile voices. Max pulled Val along behind them while Laura took up the rear, turning around and sending a sonic blast that shook the earth back down the alley to their pursuers.

"I can fight my own battles!" Fionn snapped.

He tried to pull free of Falorios's grip, but though he looked weak, his grip was like iron.

"It's _our_ job to protect you!" Falorios snapped. "The entire world depends on it! So shut up and _let_ us!"

"I am capable of defending myself! I highly doubt you can offer protection greater than my own prowess!"

The earth shook. A crevasse formed beneath their feet and Fionn's foot was caught with a grip as fierce as Falorios's. The earth began to crawl up his leg, locking it into place with no wiggle room. It felt as though his limb was being petrified.

"Archaeons!" Laura announced.

Fionn threw his Io back at their attackers, the strong on the weapon capable of expanding for long-range, but the man who had his hand in the ground (likely the cause of Fionn's predicament) was blocked by a second attacker - a woman. She twisted her body and thrust her hand upwards, causing a barrier of some kind of silver metal to rise out of the ground and block the entire alley. Fionn's Io dented it from the force, but it was repelled all the same. The woman threw her hand back and then shoved her palm forward, causing the wall of metal to grow spikes that then shot out of the barrier like a barrage of arrows.

Fionn, knowing the hopelessness of escaping such a situation, did what he always did and remained calm in the face of such a predicament. He didn't tense in anticipation of the pain, simply relaying the facts in his mind to keep him distracted for the moment before he would have to take the attack - no way to move, no way to break the rock, no time for it, no escape from the confines of the alley, no objects he could grab as barriers unless his new acquaintances counted, no-

Laura raised her hands as the entire area began to tremble. Her eyes glowed white and the air itself vibrated. Fionn realized she was taking control of the vibrations of the entire area; her power over sound could allow her to play a nice tune, but it could also allow her to control all vibrational waves so long as there was a medium for them to travel through - aka, the air or objects themselves. Fionn recalled a story from Finnegan that everything had a vibrational frequency, and if you matched that frequency, you could potentially destroy it. The barrage of metal spikes all came to a stop in the vibrating air, the hum becoming so intense that it almost became hard to breathe. Laura pushed her hands forward with a grunt, all the metal spikes and the wall of the same metal vibrating like speakers before they all began to liquify. Then, everything exploded. Max held her hands up as an invisible barrier appeared around them, deflecting the molten metal and dripping it safely to the ground away from the rest of them. Their opponents were not so lucky. Only one of them had made it out of the alley when they predicted trouble, and the one who summoned the metal in the first place was able to somewhat deflect it from herself. One of them was knocked out from the shockwave alone, the other was drenched in the liquified metal.

Laura took a deep breath before standing up straight again. She hurried over to Fionn and spread her feet, holding her arms up as though she was miming holding a baseball bat. With a small flash, her flute from back when she was on stage appeared in her hands, but this time it had a mallet on the end as though it was for a giant gong. On top of that, as she reared back it charged up with purple electricity. Fionn braced himself as she swung her charged mallet at the rock encasing his foot. With a thunderous boom, the rock broke away from the force of her hit, electricity crackling through the stone as it almost seemed to peel itself off of him.

Fionn stared at her and she shrugged. "I'm an Arco-Fulgarian, don't think about it too hard."

"Let's move," Falorios announced. "We still have more problems to worry about. That blast probably just announced our presence to the entire city."

Laura nodded. "Rios, illusion."

He removed his jacket, releasing a pair of enormous wings that really shouldn't have been able to fit under that jacket. They were the same light purple as his moths, shimmering and sparkling like a lava lamp. His lavender eyes glowed brighter to overtake his pupils as he spread his wings to their fullest, overtaking the entire alley. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth wide as though he were going to shout, but instead of his voice, a large, dense swarm of moths emerged from his mouth and flew out of his wings. The alley was instantly overtaken by his glowing moths, swarming and swirling around madly and dazing their opponents as they attempted to recover from Laura's attack. Rios's releasing of moths lasted for only five to ten seconds, but the swarm had become dense enough to make it hard to breathe.

The moths surged forward down the alley, taking their attackers down in a tidal wave of iridescent chitin. Rios grabbed Fionn's wrist again in his tight grasp and they began running again. Behind them, Rios's moths began to conglomerate into dense groupings, large enough to form…humanoids. Surely enough, the moths transformed from a mass of squirming moths into duplicates of Fionn's entire party - Laura, Rios, Val, and himself. There were at least half a dozen of each of them, the groups of four splitting up and running in different directions once they were free of the alley. So that's what Laura meant by illusions. When the swarm around their opponents let up, the two remaining Archaeons ran out of the alley only to find the myriad of groups to follow.

Fionn didn't pity them as he followed Rios willingly down the street. When the bugs started crawling out of the ground, that's when he began to realize the danger they were in. All of the groups were attacked by the bugs - swarms of insects of all different kinds that began to crawl up their feet and nip at their exposed skin. Fionn suddenly felt glad he'd accepted the offer for shoes. Laura waved her hand and small pulses shook the ground beneath them and the other illusions that were in sight. Fionn realized what the insects were doing - only the real Laura could ward off the bugs properly - only the real ones of _all_ of them could fight back. They were narrowing down the groups to find the real one.

Fionn heard the cawing of ravens next. Birds were diving down in large groups into alleys and across the streets. When Rios winced, Fionn guessed that they had taken out one or more of the groups of illusions.

"I _told_ you Aves was a jerk," Rios muttered.

"Wait, Aves the Avesian?" Laura asked with a chuckle. "Ha! That one's just hilarious. Can you _believe_ he named himself Aves?"

"I can _believe_ he's _dick_. His birds eat my moths for sport!"

"Birds eat insects all the time. That is their main purpose in life. Besides, you're not the only Astral who has bird troubles. Aves isn't the only bird Astral, either."

"Just the _worst_ one. And now, we're under _attack_ from them!"

They sprinted down the streets, surprisingly empty for a city, as the birds began to close in. And with the birds helping them, the Archaeons were quickly closing in.

"We need to disappear!" Rios announced.

"Unfortunately, none of us can make us disappear!" Laura said harshly. "No offense, Max, but fooling Astrals is harder than fooling mortals."

"I get it," Max said. "I've always been better with telekinetics rather than telepathic stuff. Val was always better with mental stuff, I was better with physical."

A large sinkhole appeared in front of them, expanding further and further and forcing them to back up. Laura grabbed Max and Val before launching them forward with a sonic boom. Max guided them to the other end, Falorios following behind by flying Fionn over. They continued running, this time to be confronted by a swarm of chirping birds. Fionn swung his Io out and it easily cut them down, but it took him a few swings to completely clear the path, and he had to spin it like a propellor to ward off any other attackers.

"Ew, that's a lot of bird death," Laura muttered.

"Don't focus on it," Rios said. "Just keep-"

"Well, you've certainly been annoying."

A man wearing black robes that resembled some kind of church choir or maybe a judge appeared standing in front of them. It took Fionn a moment to realize that the robes were made of pure black feathers, cascading down his body to cover all of his skin. He had sharp features - not directly having a beak but resembling one heavily. His eyes were an unnatural shade of yellow, and his hair was swept back and also appeared to be made of feathers.

"We've been tracking down Phoenix for _days_ now, ever since he left Faerie, and you just _had_ to go ruining it, didn't you, Falorios? The first chance that he's surrounded by tons of people and we could just snatch him without any of his friends realizing there's something wrong until it's too late and _two_ of you had to be here."

"Sorry to have burst your bubble," Rios muttered. Even _Fionn_ could note the sarcasm. "If you could be a dear and get out of the way, Aves, I'd appreciate it."

"Now why would I do _that?_ We've got you cornered, and I'm your superior, Falorios. And taking out two of our men won't earn _you_ any brownie points with me, Laura."

"I just came here to rescue a friend of mine," Laura said defensively. "It's _you_ who decided to ambush us."

He shrugged. "You're defending Phoenix and not taking him in. As far as we're concerned, that means you're a traitor too. Now, time to hand him over."

Fionn took up a battle stance with his Io primed. "You will not take me. I have much to protect here."

Aves smiled and held his arms out, a swarm of ravens emerging from his feathered cloak. "Fine by me. I won't be forgiving you for killing my subjects any time soon. I'm sure they're all eager for revenge against you Infernians. I'm surprised you're not the same, Falorios. After all, the Infernians have crossed you many times too."

Falorios frowned. "Yeah, but they don't burn us as much as you eat us."

"That sounded _so_ wrong out of context," Laura muttered.

Aves shrugged. "Whatever. Get 'em."

All at once the swarm surged forward, a tidal wave of angry pecking, cawing birds with talons that could shred meat from bone. The swarm of moths had been suffocating, but at least they could do no harm beyond brushing past you. The birds were a mass of attacking creatures, but since they were everywhere, it was easy for Fionn to spin his Io and strike masses of them down all at once. He defended the group with speed and grace he'd gained through years of practice, managing to aim his Io at any hostiles from all directions moving around his comrades when he needed it. He moved out of the way as Laura took a step forward and threw out her arms, sending out a blast towards Aves. He held up his hands and blocked the move, but was still pushed back across the street.

Aves smiled. "Come on, is that _really_ all you got? And here I heard you were supposed to be _dangerous_."

Just as he said that, he staggered forward and exclaimed in surprise to find a throwing knife embedded between his shoulder blades. Had he been human, the injury might have paralyzed him. As it stood, the only issue he had was that when he reached back to grab it, it was too low to reach when going over his shoulder, but too high up to reach without popping his shoulder out of its socket. Luckily the man wasn't flexible.

"Fionn!"

Fionn experienced joy, relief, panic, reluctance, and then acceptance all in that order upon hearing Finnegan's voice. And that was just from his voice alone. The moment he looked up and actually _saw_ the Shadowhunter behind Aves, he went through shock, confusion, denial, capitulation, more confusion and then he had to duck. Finnegan was riding upon Zoltan wielding two massive blades that had to be four or five feet tall, curved like khopesh blades except far thicker and with far more accented sharp edges, decorated white and green with black lightning, and sparking with electricity.

Zoltan charged forward, and as Finnegan approached, Fionn realized his eyes had gone pure white, clouded like a brewing storm with sparking electricity within. Fionn barely had time to dive out of the way as Finnegan and Zoltan shot past, quick as lightning, and Fionn realized that Finnegan had used the two blades to strike Aves as they passed. The bird Astral seized as lightning began to spark across his entire body - feather robe and all. A moment later, he screamed and his body exploded in a flash of light. Left in his wake was a crater at least two feet deep and five meters wide.

"Hang tight," Finnegan said, looking back the way they'd come for the remaining Archaeons. "Be back in a sec."

The two vanished in a streak of lightning and a boom of thunder, heading back towards the Archaeons.

"What the _hell_ was _that?!_" Max exclaimed with a chuckle.

"_That_ was a man blessed by the Hexatheon," Laura sighed.

"Blessed by the whole of the gods?" Fionn asked.

"Yup. During the Ifrit War, the mortal Nephilim that accompanied Phoenix, Brynhildr, and Lord Siegfried to defeat Ifrit was blessed by the rest of the Hexatheon to be able to utilize and improve the skills of other Astrals while not being an Astral himself. It was the perfect solution to combating the Scourge, but not just anyone could survive the process. But he did, and he got a blessing from Phoenix in place of the Infernian and here we are! The Scion of the Angels. I heard that he'd liked music, but I'd never gotten the chance to meet him before he died! And now he's back! Oh, this is _wonderful!_"

"Calm down, Laura," Rios ordered, standing and brushing himself off from avoiding Finnegan and Zoltan's attack on Aves. "There are still things to be done before we can interact with him regularly. Especially you."

"But when we get there, I'm going to be his best friend!"

"And here I thought you loved me," Max muttered.

"Oh, I _do_. He'll be my best friend, you'll be my wife. It all works out!"

"You _do_ realize he has a sister and a parabatai."

"They can be his bester and bestest friends, but I call best friend rights."

"You can't _call_ best friend rights," Rios protested. "There has to be a mutual agreement here. And are 'bester' and 'bestest' even _words?_"

"If you use them enough, yes, yes they are."

"Are they on the _Oxford Dictionary?_"

"They will be if we use them often enough and spread the word for them to be used more."

Their argument continued as Max examined Val to make sure she hadn't taken any damage from being dragged around town and tackled out of the way of a lightning horse. Fionn walked over to the crater where Aves disappeared. He didn't know why. He just went to the center and picked up a single remaining black feather, which turned out to be crystalized and made with a clip so that he could put it in his hair. He did so, slipping it just above his right ear, before rejoining the others.

Zoltan returned with Finnegan on his back, still wielding his large blades with his blank eyes of the gods. When he spoke, it seemed multiple voices were layered upon each other, and Fionn could just barely make out Finnegan's. "_The enemy shall soon descend upon us when they learn of this victory. We must retreat. Hie we away before we are followed. Brace yourselves._"

Zoltan began to dash around them, creating an electric funnel like a tornado and they were in the eye of the storm. The ground beneath them shook, the storm thickened so that all they could see were gray electric clouds, the air pressure rose to be more intense to the point that Fionn felt like he couldn't breathe.

Then, the air pressure dropped and Fionn felt dizzy and off balance. He nearly staggered and fell over, but he managed to somewhat steady himself. The storm died away. They appeared on the roof of a building, one that Fionn recognized to be Lock's apartment. It specifically had a roof that not only Zoltan could properly land on, but pretty much a helicopter or two could fit onto. It was also glamoured specifically so that no mundanes and most of the Shadow World in general couldn't see if anything landed there. That was why it was probably the safest place they could land a literal storm in the middle of the city.

Zoltan came to a stop beside him, sparking with electricity, and Fionn looked up to the enhanced Shadowhunter on his back. Finnegan looked down at the faerie with blank eyes, sparking with electricity and radiating the power of the gods. With the two large khopesh-like blades in his hands, he looked more dangerous than ever. It took Fionn's breath away for multiple reasons.

"_Foolish, not preparing for this scenario,_" Finnegan said with his Astral voice. "_I had taken so many precautions to cloak your presence at Brynhilr's behest._"

"Thanks for the save, Master Zoltashian," Laura said. "Not that I couldn't bust out a few more moves to take 'em down, sir." She waved her hands in some kind of martial arts attempt. "But what's done is done. Does this mean-?"

"_No_, it doesn't mean the time has come," Falorios said, brushing his hands through his hair and smoothing his tux.

"_The chosen time has not yet come to pass,_" Finnegan agreed. "_But to say there is a definite moment when we shall all be informed is has begun is to speculate upon events we cannot know of. The Oracle shall decree what must be done. Until then, the mortal remains a mortal._"

"Then what are _you_ doing?" Max pointed out.

"_I never said I always follow the rules._"

Laura giggled and Falorios rolled his eyes.

"_And he is not yet trained, therefore I will not be able to hold onto him for much longer. I will return him to his Institute so that you will be allowed to conduct your business._"

"Will you be joining us or are you going to run off?" Rios asked.

Laura slapped a hand over Rios's mouth. "Ignore his attitude, sir. He's always like this."

"_To answer your query, I might join you should I feel so inclined, but don't get your hopes up. And Fionn?_"

Fionn stiffened, but he wasn't able to respond because Finnegan/Zoltan was already speaking again.

"_Do not be afraid._"

Without elaborating, the horse disappeared in a boom of thunder, forcing them all to brace themselves before the ground settled again.

"You called my steed 'Master,'" Fionn stated.

"Oh, yeah," Laura waved. "He's like the Phoenix of Fulgarians - thunder gods. He's on par with some of the more well-known thunder-based deities. He was my master long ago and taught me all about my thunderous powers. Such a role model."

Fionn thought to all of his interactions with the passive-aggressive, slightly immature steed. "A…role model."

"Anyway, let's get Val back downstairs and see if Andy or Veon can help her."

* * *

**Chapter title: '_King of Anything_' by Sara Bareilles**


	13. You've Gotta Be So Cold To Make It

**Welp, at least we're back to Sundays. I've got about one or two chapters after this to post before I catch up to where I've been writing and then updates will have literally no schedule because I suck at updating.**

**Enjoy, the people who are reading (do you exist?)**

* * *

"Okay, I can just use this to pull the dried blood off the paper so we can add it to the brew."

"Amazing," Selina muttered. "What does it do? Reverse time on the blood to extract it?"

"It extracts what remains of the blood precisely from the paper and preserves it well enough restoring it to a fresh status, correct. There can be very little of the blood left, aged, dried, smeared, but I'll be able to renew enough of it to even replicate it. Useful for DNA testing. The police force comes to me about stuff like this, whether it's Shadow World members undercover in the police force or the actual mundane police just aware enough of the Shadow World to do business with warlocks or even Shadowhunters sometimes."

"Sometimes I'm jealous of you warlocks with your almost infinite magical prowess."

"Well, it's not _infinite_. We have to work hard to build our magic reserves, and often it's useful to know some physical fighting skills. Magic reserves are limited and once they're gone, they have to be rejuvenated the old fashioned way - with food, drink, and rest."

"Runes are kinda like that. They only last for so long, and sometimes drawing them can be a problem - not only can it take a few moments in a battle to draw them, but also losing or breaking steles is a serious issue. If any of the reports that we've been getting at the Institute are any indication."

"Busy with missing steles?"

"And witchlights, and Sensors, and broken or lost weapons. Honestly, there are way too many things that we keep track of, but it's all for the sake of security and stuff."

"Right, we're almost ready."

Veon waved his hand and a small orb of blood rose up from the paper and hovered above his hand. It slowly began to grow from a small bead to an orb the size of a baseball. Veon used his other hand and split off a small bit of blood from the larger orb, returning it to the paper for future use. He tossed the remaining large orb of blood into a cauldron he'd been preparing with some kind of warlock brew and it flashed with a plume of smoke.

"So…what'd that do?" Selina asked.

Veon took the Sensor Selina had offered him and put it up into the smoke rising up from the cauldron. "The way that I've made this, the Sensor should now be able to track her directly. Like a GPS, but for a person rather than a location."

"Neat."

The Sensor beeped and Veon pulled it out of the steam. "There we go. Let's…what the hell?"

"What is it?" Selina asked, looking over his shoulder.

He pressed a few more buttons on the Sensor. "The overhead location is saying right here. I'm switching to a street view."

"Sensors can't do that…can they?"

"Your Sensor can do a lot more than you'd expect now that _I've_ upgraded it." He pressed a button and the Sensor beeped. Veon sighed with relief. "Okay, it's not in the same room as us."

"What if it was?"

"It'd mean…the only living remains of her are here. Meaning…she'd be dead."

"So…since she's _not_ in the same room as us?"

He pressed some buttons on the Sensor with a determined gaze. "The roof."

"What? How is that _possible?!_"

"My wards. Something just teleported onto the roof."

"It can't be _that_ coincidental, could it?"

"You should know, the gods work in mysterious ways. Come on!"

He hurried out of his seat and Selina followed him up the stairs. They burst through the door together to find that there _was_ someone on the roof - several someones, in fact.

The first that they recognized was Fionn. He was dressed in the suit that they'd bought for him for that special Lottery thing. His shoes were in his hands and he seemed relieved to have them taken off. Beside him was another man in a velvet suit with his jacket in his arms. Behind him were a pair of wings hanging limp and antennae were peaking through his lavender hair. There were three more girls, one of which being the warlock Val, and another was helping her walk forward with an arm at the small of her back.

"Val!" Selina exclaimed.

Her eyes were blank. Even as they raised to meet Selina's at the sound of her name, it almost felt like she was looking clean through Selina or looking at someone behind her.

"Valaeyasha!"

Andy surged past Selina and beat her to Val. Selina was reminded that Val's husband had been worried out of his mind for her, despite the fact that he seemed to be so put together on the outside.

"Max, is she okay?" Andy asked the girl who was helping Val.

The girl that was helping Val released her to Andy. She swiped her hand through her short brown hair. "We managed to find her, and all she did was work the Lottery and then she shut down. But she said that she was an envoy for some kind of master. What did they call him, Rios?"

"The Guardian," Rios, the bug-man, said with a scowl. "Whatever that means. More importantly, we fix Valaeyasha and then we report this to headquarters."

"You can go report everything," Andy insisted. "I'm not leaving Val, and even if we fix her, she needs time to recover. You're not doing anything, so how about you make yourself useful?"

Rios gave Andy a middle finger before stomping off past Veon and Selina down the stairs to the apartment. He held up a hand and summoned a small gathering of his glowing moths before he began relaying their night to them under his breath.

"Was that not harsh?" Fionn asked.

"Andy's going through some stress right now," Laura assured him. "Don't worry. They'll make up by the next time they meet. We should get Val downstairs and heal her up." Max turned her eyes to Selina and Veon before straightening up. "Oh. What are you guys doing up here?"

Selina blinked before pulling herself together and managing to speak. "Oh, we were…looking for-"

"We came up when I felt my wards letting people teleport in," Veon interrupted.

"Are you in any condition to be doing so? I heard from Andy and Val that you were…" She moved her finger to her temple and spun it.

"I'm…pulling myself together. Uh…remind me who you are again."

She smiled. "Right! I'm Maxine Kana-Shisou Yaru, Val's sister. This is my wife Laura, an Astral of sound."

"Arco-Fulgarian," Laura elaborated. "A musician. You're Seline, right?"

"Sort of. I had to sheath the Astral side of me because of Phoenix being infected by the Scourge."

Laura tilted her head. "Didn't Rios say something like that too? I think he did."

"I am infected, it's true," Fionn agreed.

"Well it sure doesn't seem like it," Andy volunteered, his hand clasping Val's tightly. "You're not infected, at least on the surface. Phoenix was always known as a hero who found a way to resist the Scourge. None of us ever knew how you did it. Because you died so soon after we all learned of it."

"The…Ifrit War," Fionn guessed. "I found immunity."

He nodded. "Yes. Therefore, you are our greatest hope."

"Wait, if he's found immunity, that means we can bring out the Seline in you again!" Veon exclaimed. "I'll get the counterspell ready. You guys can bring Val down to the infirmary. Let's get to work people!"

He rushed down the stairs and Seline blinked, staring at the doorway where he'd disappeared. They'd come up here to find Dearil. Was Veon trying to hide that fact, or had he genuinely forgotten? But unless that spell had gone wrong, it meant that one of the five people that had teleported up here had to be Dearil.

Andy and Val were out automatically - they knew about Veon's obsession with finding Dearil and that lowered the chances that they were secretly her in disguise. One was an Astral, the other was a memory demon's kid, so unless Val had a reason for hiding who she was and Andy went along with it because of a serious reason, neither were likely candidates. Besides, Seline knew these people well enough to have recommended their help should she need it.

Max and Laura had to be telling the truth or Andy was lying by not disproving what they said about being Val's sister and Val's sister-in-law respectively.

They all headed back down the stairs as Selina stared at Fionn. Selina knew him well enough to suspect that he wasn't the culprit. But then again, he had mentioned a girl that was gone now. Daughter of the Unseelie Court, daughter of a powerful man and his mistress. Her father had children with man woman but none of them he was married to.

_Kingsdöttær. Dearil Kingsdöttær; the cursed Kingsdöttær_.

"Fionn!" The faerie turned his bi-colored eyes on her, and dread set into her stomach.

He had that effect on people, though not Finnegan. Selina's parabatai had looked into those eyes that weren't normal and he had found solace, because everyone he'd known with regular eyes had been scary. His father, his superiors, even Merida and Selina sometimes. The dragon eyes of Zytaveon, the dark eyes of a vampire, the glow of a werewolf's eyes, and the haunting eyes of a gentry faerie. They were eyes that had never judged him, eyes that had wanted to protect him at all costs, ones that gave the gaze of those who would never give up on him. He'd come to associate Merida and Selina in that circle of trust soon enough, and once Selina had become his parabatai, she had started to feel safer with Downworlders rather than Shadowhunters. Even being Finnegan's parabatai, however, there was something deep inside her that trembled in fear when she gazed into Fionn's miscolored eyes.

Andy, Val, Max, and Laura followed Veon over to a back room that served as an infirmary for him to work some healing magic, but Selina took Fionn over to the living room. He looked slightly amusing in his human tux if it weren't for the fact that everything else about him screamed faerie. Not just his appearance, either. It was the abnormal way he held himself, ready to pounce at any second, taking in everything about his surroundings to be prepared for threats. He walked mostly on the balls of his bare feet, he sat at the edge of his seat with his feet lined up with his shoulders. His body was always tight, but not so tight that you couldn't be fooled into thinking he was relaxed. His eyes flickered to every door and window within sight at least once somewhat unconsciously even though he knew Veon's apartment relatively well in the time they'd known each other. The gears in his head never stopped turning, always thinking too hard without even knowing it himself. This was just routine for him, being afraid. It was like he'd forgotten what it was like to not be tense and on alert. Selina felt a small wave of pity before squashing the feeling. He wouldn't like being pitied.

"What do you wish to discuss, lady Selina?" Fionn asked.

"You told me back at Hidden Treasures that you had a friend who would like that dress, right?"

His eyes darkened as he retreated into his mind to think back through his memories. "Yes, I recall that encounter."

"She was a daughter of the Unseelie King, wasn't she? Not just a daughter of the Unseelie Court in general."

Fionn's posture tightened and he glared at her. For a moment, she feared he would attempt to silence her now that she knew - by any means necessary. Selina saw as he realized he had given away the answer by his reaction, how he seemed to mentally sigh and relax his body to move forward with the development that he could no longer hide or cover up.

"Yes. There was a daughter of the Unseelie Court."

"You said she was gone, but did you mean she was dead?"

Fionn, now on alert, was not tense, but rather completely relaxed. His resting face almost seemed to darken the shadows around him despite the rest of his body language suggesting he was making a casual conversation. "Might I request the reason you recall this subject?"

Selina looked over to the hall where the infirmary room was. She could barely hear Veon and the others talking with the door closed, but just to be careful she leaned in and spoke quietly. "Veon's been having trouble with his memories. He's recently been obsessing over the loss of this girl named 'Dearil.'" Fionn's body tensed almost angrily, but Selina continued. "She was such an important part of his life that having the memories of her taken away seems to have nearly broken his mind. We suspect that Malcolm did something, but we're not entirely sure what or why. For now, we can't let him suspect that we're onto something, but now that he's done something to _Val_ too, we'll need to be careful about our next move. Anyway, did the Unseelie King have a daughter named Dearil? I know that he doesn't have many, if _any_, daughters, but…nothing else makes sense."

"He had a daughter named Dearil," Fionn confirmed. His eyes were shimmering with something resembling…sadness. "She was to be hidden because the king vowed in the past never to sire any daughters."

"Why would he do such a thing?"

He closed his eyes pensively. "The incident is not within my knowledge. I simply know of its existence, not of the details surrounding the event." His eyes opened, though he refused to meet Selina's gaze. She wasn't sure if she should be relieved about it. "She is gone, as I said."

"Dead?"

"Never to _be_ again. Dearil will never return. It is for the best."

"How so?"

"In the Unseelie Court, her existence was to be hidden, and so she was secluded to the Unseelie Tower - a heavily fortified and protected, windowless tower in the darkness; the only permanent stronghold of the Unseelie Court, as the rest of the Court moves among the lands of Faerie. It is the place of residence of the Unseelie King, his courtiers, and the gentry in the Unseelie Lands of Faerie. A separate building was made for Dearil to be raised in specifically, along with Brynhildr Kingsdöttær, Dearil's elder sister and primary caretaker. The main tower had no windows; Dearil's residence had only two - one of which belonged to Brynhildr's chambers. The sky, the sun, the clouds - all had eluded her knowledge for over a decade of her young life."

"She was locked up for her first ten years?"

He nodded. "Twelve years. Even when she witnessed the sky, her life was lonely. The only company presented were her kin - dozens of brothers who treated her as a lesser. They would beat her daily, berate her for weaknesses brought about by no actions of her own - the action of inaction, perhaps. She was to remain alive, but also contained. The Unseelie King needed her life, but nothing else. He did not need her love or trust, he simply needed her fear and despair."

"That's…terrible. What he even need her _for?_"

He shook his head. "I have pondered such a query within my mind many times, but no such answer has presented itself as of yet. She attempted to end her life and failed. Her first forbidden excursion beyond the Court was terrifying, yet beautiful. She desired death and yet continued to live. Her mother's smile was the only reason she resisted the cold, peaceful embrace of eternal rest. When her mother had a son, many decades her junior, any courage she had developed was obliterated. She had an innocent life only she could protect, and so she gave her life for him."

"You?" Selina realized.

Fionn said nothing.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…but if Dearil is gone…why did Malcolm need to take her memory from Veon? Perhaps losing her made Veon go off the rails and the memory wipe was necessary."

"Dearil lost her memories once, held captive by a warlock - or so the story is told. It is not a great leap to assume this warlock is the one we are so well familiar with. Does Zytaveon speak fondly of his memories of Dearil, or is he averse to the lost past being returned to him?"

"No. I mean - what I meant is that he loved her. He loved her a lot, like she was his daughter. She was hurting, and he did everything he could to heal her. And then she was taken away, he said. Her memory was taken away, but perhaps it was more than that - she was taken back to the Unseelie Court, and he just couldn't handle the sorrow."

"Perhaps she had found happiness and self-confidence that the Unseelie King did not favor, and so their experiences together were to be wiped away."

"But only warlocks or demons can wipe memories on that kind of scale, right?"

"If Malcolm was the source of Zytaveon's confused state and Valaeyasha was harmed in an attempt to recover memories from Malcolm, I suspect Malcolm is the culprit of our woes."

"So he worked with the Unseelie King to take away Zytaveon's memories and Dearil's memories of ever knowing each other because…she had become strong thanks to him. They needed her complacent. That's so…_terrible_. But why would Malcolm _do_ something like that? Maybe the Unseelie King tricked him or…more likely Malcolm did it willingly. Veon was trying to help translate those runes from the Unseelie Court guy - Iarlath. If Malcolm is working with the Court, he'd try to stop Veon from translating the runes because they're no doubt up to something. Maybe he's hiding his connection to the Court. By giving the Blackthorns Mark, they won't be able to contact the Clave for help. They're cutting us off. But the question remains of _why?_ What did Malcolm want so badly that he'd turn on the Blackthorns and Veon and work with the Unseelie Court? And what does the Court want from tricking us and using Malcolm? And what did they need Dearil for? If she's really gone, then did they get what they wanted by sacrificing her? Was she a sacrifice like in those rituals that we've been finding?"

Fionn was quiet as Selina went on speculating.

"How did she die?" Selina asked.

"Zytaveon met her once, after their memories had been taken away."

Selina blinked. Not what she expected him to say. "Huh?" she asked blankly.

"He _must_ recall that meeting if he has regained even a semblance of his memories of her. Does he remember her face?"

"Um…I'm not sure. We were trying to track her down earlier, but instead, we found you guys on the roof."

Fionn shot to his feet, quick and quiet as a feline, and rushed down the hall to the infirmary room. Selina had just gotten to her feet by the time that Fionn dragged Veon across the hall and slammed the door closed behind them. Maxine poked her head out the doorway in confusion as Selina hurried over to the door.

"They've sound-proofed the room," Laura informed them. "They don't wanna be overheard."

"What were you guys talking about?" Max asked.

Selina stared at the closed door. She couldn't help the worried expression that fell upon her face. She had so many questions, wondering what happened to Dearil and what Fionn meant when he said that she had met Veon once even after the two of them had forgotten each other. How had Fionn known that? How had Dearil died? If their tracking spell had led to Fionn specifically, that meant that somehow Fionn held the last of her legacy within her somehow. Something had led them to Fionn rather than Dearil herself with that tracking spell. What about Fionn's connection to her had made that happen?

Selina's questions were brought to a halt as she felt her entire body give out in exhaustion for some reason. She felt like she had just run a marathon the way her limbs ached with fatigue, and she nearly saw spots in her eyes as she collapsed to the carpet beneath her.

"Hey!" Max exclaimed. "Are you okay?! What's wrong?!"

"Finn…"

"Her parabatai," Laura realized. "The chosen one."

Max nodded. "Ah. She must be feeling the strain of the Astral bond. They must've disconnected. She's probably got it worse than him since she's _not_ the chosen one and she's getting similar aftereffects that her body can't prepare for. Come on. We can get you a bed next to Val. Andy's already brewing up some curatives, so we'll have him make a batch for you too."

Max took her arm and the pull of gravity seemed to disappear. Selina vaguely remembered as Max guided her into the infirmary and to a bed, but she passed out the moment her head hit the pillow.

* * *

All Finn was told was that he had been lying on the steps of the Institute when the others had gotten back. Cristina was the first one to have noticed him, but even then, she had been halted up the stairs by Mark and had delayed his discovery.

The events of that night after he left the theater were a blur. It all felt like a dream, something he was aware of and could recall blurry visuals of, but nothing that felt _real_. It was like he was watching everything happen on a screen in front of him. He had made it to the car with the others and Zoltan had appeared instantly, as if being summoned, but the horse had been urgent. Julian had asked him how he could tell, but Mark had accepted the weak excuse of "I can just feel it" with ease.

Finnegan had climbed aboard the steed all on his own, without Fionn there to help him up. Though he had been learning to ride horses recently, Zoltan had no saddle nor reins, and therefore Finn still had to learn how to ride the faerie steed anew. Fionn had been teaching him on the rare occasions that he could, how to clear his mind and allow himself to feel the steed's thoughts like instinct to not only learn to mount but also to ride and control the horse with nothing but his thoughts. He was normally scared to ride without at least gripping Zoltan's mane, but this time, he had simply leaned forward and urged the horse forward and it had obeyed.

Finn had never been a centaur (it would be very odd if that statement _weren't_ true), but that night he had felt like he was one with that steed, like its four legs were his own. Electricity crackled along the mount's flank, but Finn had barely noticed as it crawled up his body and filled his limbs with energy. His skin sparked with enough charge to probably kill a normal person, but instead it made his body glow and his eyes brighten to be blank. He flicked out his hands and large khopesh blades flashed to life with a boom of thunder.

"**_We must protect him_.**"

Finn didn't have to ask to know who Zoltan was talking about. Fionn was in trouble, they both sensed it. What they were doing was forbidden and dangerous and reckless, but they needed to save him.

By the time that Finnegan was returned to the Institute, his connection to the Astral horse was weakening. He had nearly fallen off the steed and harshly greeted the ground with his face if Zoltan hadn't knelt and carefully lowered him down. When Zoltan dashed away in his regular boom of thunder, any of Finn's remaining energy seeped away and he was left exhausted and dazed.

A storm was building out over the ocean - a roil of blue-black clouds spiked with lightning. It was probably the result of Zoltan and Finn's melding and subsequent disconnection, Finn thought blankly. He realized that he couldn't move, but he saw the car of the Los Angeles Institute pull up and he had hope that the others would notice him and bring him inside. For some reason, despite his exhaustion, he couldn't fully lose consciousness. Depending on which direction the wind was blowing from, the Institute smelled either of ocean water or of the desert - of salt or of sage. Tonight it was sage. He liked the smell, but it was keeping him awake when he really wanted to rest.

He saw Cristina was the first to climb the steps of the Institute, but she was stopped when Mark confronted her. "You dropped these outside the theater," he said, and held out his hand to reveal her two glittering gold earrings that had falling out while she was running, that she had assumed were lost somewhere on a Los Angeles square of pavement.

"Oh!" She took them from him, slipping them into the pocket of her coat. He watched her, his mismatched eyes curious. "They were a gift," she explained. "From someone - from an old friend."

"They're pretty," Mark said. "Especially against your hair. It looks like black silk."

Cristina exhaled. She looked beyond Mark to where Emma and Julian were, still down at the car.

"You shouldn't say those sort of things to me," Cristina said to Mark.

The wind blew his hair across his face; he pushed it back. "I thought mortal women liked compliments." He sounded honestly puzzled.

"Do faerie women like them?"

"I don't know many. The Seelie Queen does enjoy a compliment. But there were no women in the Hunt."

"But there was Kieran. And what would he say if he knew you were telling me I was pretty? Because the way he looks at you…"

A look of shock passed over Mark's face. He glanced down quickly at Julian, but his brother was absorbed in Emma. "How do you-?"

"I saw you," she admitted. "In the parking lot. And when you disappeared today at the theater, I would guess that was because of him as well?"

"Please tell no one, Cristina." The look of fear on his face broke her heart. "They would punish him, and me as well. We both swore we would not reveal our relationship to any Shadowhunters, lest they think I would be too loyal to Faerie and too likely to return to it, and not agree to our bargain. Finnegan only knows because of his relations with Fionn Flann. Also, Kieran is forbidden to see us both now that we are out of the Hunt."

"I will tell no one," Cristina promised. "I have not mentioned it, not to Emma, not to anyone."

"You are as kind as you are lovely," he said, but the words sounded rehearsed.

"I know you think you can't trust mortals. But I will not betray you."

"I trust not _all_ mortals. There are those my trust is granted."

"You trust Finnegan because he has just as much to lose as you if ever either of your personal lives were discovered."

There was nothing rehearsed about the look he gave her then. "I meant it when I said you were beautiful. I want you, and Kieran would not mind-"

"You _want_ me?"

"Yes," Mark said simply, and Cristina looked away, suddenly very aware of how close his body was to hers. Of the shape of his shoulders under his jacket. He was lovely as faeries were lovely, with a sort of unearthliness, as quicksilver as moonlight on water. He didn't seem quite touchable, but she had seen him kiss Kieran and knew better. "You do not want to be wanted?"

In another time, the time before, Cristina would have blushed. "It is not the sort of compliment mortal women enjoy."

"But why not?"

"Because it makes it sound like I am a thing you want to use. And when you say Kieran would not mind, you make it sound as if he would not mind because I do not matter."

"That is very human," he said. "To be jealous of a body but not a heart."

Cristina had studied faeries closely. It was true that unmarried fair folk, regardless of sexual orientation, placed a very low value on physical fidelity, though a much greater value than humans did on emotional loyalty. There were few, if any, vows that had to do with sex, but many that had to do with true love.

"You see, I do not want a body without a heart," she said.

He did not reply, but she could read the look in his eyes. If she said the word, she could have Mark Blackthorn, for some value of having him. It was a strange thing to know, even if she did not want what he offered. But if he were offering _more_ \- well, there had been a time she had thought she would never want anyone again. It was good to know that wasn't true.

"Is Kieran the reason?" she asked. "That you might return to Faerie, even if the killer is caught?"

"Kieran saved my life. I was nothing in the Wild Hunt."

"You are not nothing. You are the son of the Lady Nerissa."

"And Kieran is the son of the King of the Unseelie Court," Mark said flatly. "He did everything for me in the Wild Hunt. Protected me and kept me alive. And he has only me. He has Fionn Flann, yes, but that is different. Their love is love, but it is not the love of Julian and the others. They have each other. They do not need me."

But he didn't sound convinced. He spoke as if the words were dead leaves, blowing across some hollow and aching space inside him. And in that moment, Cristina yearned towards him more than she ever had, for she knew that feeling, to be so hollowed out by love that you felt as if the wind could blow through you.

"That is not love," Cristina said. "That is debt."

Mark set his jaw. He had never looked more like a Blackthorn. "If there is one thing I have learned in my life - and I grant I have not learned much - it is this: Neither Fair Folk nor mortals know what love is or is not. No one does."

* * *

"What do you remember about Dearil?" Fionn demanded.

Veon moved his hand to his forehead. "It's all very hazy, but at the very least I'm getting control of my mind again. It frustrates me, not being able to remember everything about her. The problem is, the memories were physically _taken_ from me, so even Val couldn't extract them if she wanted to. I've still got a splitting headache from my aunt, but it's manageable. I don't know how long I went insane. Sometimes I zoned out and didn't realize what I was doing. It all made sense in my head, and then I come to my senses and find that I've drawn on the walls of my apartment like a maniac. Val and Andy documented my drawings and transferred them to paper. I don't recognize most of the scenes, but they _do_ feel familiar."

He waved his hand and a folder appeared in a wave of flame emanating from his palm. Fionn took it and opened it up, spreading out the papers on the floor in front of him.

"There's a scene with Andy here, meaning that he had to have seen her once as well. He's having trouble with his memories of Dearil too, meaning this was a world-wide memory erasure. It was powerful. I know that Malcolm's good, but I never knew he was _this_ good. He managed to erase everything - everyone who'd ever interacted with her between a certain time frame forgot about her presence. It was precise too. Sometimes you can piece together something that's missing by the hole that it leaves in your life. But he even made it so that we didn't _care_ about forgetting, that we naturally just went about our lives without her there. But I was with her for nearly _all_ of the erased memory, and therefore the backlash of erasing my memories was greater. That resulted in…" He put two fingers to his temple and mimicked a gunshot by blowing lightly. "Insanity. He had to put a strong spell on me to make sure I forgot and didn't _know_ that I forgot. Then, all he had to do was damage the spell warding my brain from the scar of having so much of my memory taken and I lost it. I can't promise you I'll stay in a proper mental state permanently, even if I'm okay right now."

Veon might as well have been talking to the wind with how much Fionn was paying attention. He was sifting through the papers of drawings, varying in levels of crude and professional, with a determined gaze.

Veon plopped down in the seat in front of the table with a dramatic sigh. Fionn had pulled him into his study, a place he spent a lot of time normally, so it wasn't like he'd be uncomfortable. Fionn had requested he sound-proof the room, which he did without question, knowing Fionn had something important to say.

Veon himself was just getting a good look at all the images, so he stared down at the pictures as Fionn laid them out. Fionn seemed to be organizing them deliberately, studying some so closely that Veon began to wonder if he was trying to identify what art utensil Veon had used and where the material had been manufactured.

"I fail to recognize any of these," Fionn finally said.

"What exactly are you even _looking_ for?" Veon asked.

"Anything I can recall."

"You're suggesting you might've known her too?"

"There is one memory of Dearil you possess. You simply did not recognize her. You have no images of her face."

"Yeah, her face is hazy. But I remember her personality. I remember she was meek and shy, but underneath she was bold and smart. She had ambitions and goals, she was intelligent and diligent. She was a _master_ at board games and table-top RPGs. She was a scholar of magic as well as knowledge, but once she was given the opportunity, she became a master physical fighter."

"What was her weapon of choice?"

"A…an Io," Veon realized.

"Do you remember the girl who came to you one night, demanding you fail to exchange names? She spoke of her father's ire, a brother to be born, and an ultimatum only she could resolve. She requested of you a single thing."

'_Transform me into a man, warlock. That is all I ask of you_.'

"Yeah, I remember her, obviously. Which reminds me, I need to give you your dose soon, don't I?" He stood and began to grab some vials from the shelves. "Every fortnight, we agreed. That was how long my magic doses could sustain you."

"Zytaveon, do not lose your focus. The girl called Dearil, you claimed she used an Io."

"An Io…yes, she said something like that. She…mastered a steed, claimed the prize from the Wild Hunt - a weapon they had recently recovered. All within her first week with me. After that, I agreed to train her in combat, but the Io seemed to do all the work for her. It made her invincible. She was…amazing."

"Zytaveon."

He paused in his work. "The memories we lost. We have to get them back from Malcolm."

"I desire answers as you do, and yet I cannot say I experience the same desire to traverse a past of memories lost."

"Why would you not want to know about everything that we lost?"

"Do you believe the Dearil you have lost can return?"

"I'm sure she-"

"At what _cost?_"

Veon met Fionn's eyes. Both gazes were hard as obsidian, but Veon eventually broke the staredown. "You'll always be you, Fionn. No matter what you remember. You'll always be that eternal thorn in my side that I wouldn't ever wanna lose."

"I don't want to remember her."

"You don't want to remember the her that you worked so hard to reject. This won't be her. It'll be a whole new person. You know, from the memories that I _can_ gleam, the new her reminds me a little of you."

"How so?"

"Headstrong to a fault, stubborn, with a big heart underneath it all."

Fionn stared down at the foreign images laid out in front of him. "I do not wish to lose who I am, Zytaveon. I will _not_ lose who I am."

* * *

"So, basically, you kind of solved the investigation," Livvy summarized.

She was lying on the rug in Julian's room. They were all sprawled around his bedroom: Cristina perched neatly on a chair, Ty sitting against a wall with his headphones on, Julian cross-legged on his bed. He'd taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The cuff links Emma had given him gleamed on the nightstand. Mark lay on his stomach across the foot of the bed, eye to eye with Church, who'd decided to pay them a visit, probably because of the weather. Finnegan was sitting against a wall with his head resting in his palm, looking on the verge of passing out.

Emma and Cristina had explained confronting that guy who'd won the Lottery - Sterling. They had attempted to offer help, but Sterling had adamantly refused. Finnegan had explained that the others had run off dealing with some kind of threat hunting them down - nothing they hadn't been able to handle, but they were recuperating and would return when they could to explain the details. Or at least, that was the hope.

"I mean, now we know who did it," Livvy continued. "The murders."

"Not exactly," Emma said. She was sitting on the floor, leaning her back against the nightstand. "I mean, here's what we _do_ know. This group, these Followers or whatever they call themselves, they're responsible for Stanley Well's murder. The Followers are mostly people who've had some brush with the supernatural. They have the Sight, they're part faerie - Sterling's sort of a werewolf. Every month they hold a Lottery. Someone gets picked, and that someone becomes a sacrifice."

"Wells was a sacrifice," Julian said. "So it stands to reason that the other eleven murders have been because of this cult too."

"It also explains the fey bodies," Cristina added. "Since so many of them are half-fey, it makes sense that they've been picked for the sacrifices."

Julian glanced at Mark. "Do you think the Courts know if the bodies were half-fey or full-blooded?"

"Hard to say," Mark said, still staring at the cat. "They often cannot tell just by looking, and some of the Followers are full-blooded faeries. Fionn would know. His diligence extends to observations such as blood. He abhors half-fey."

"Even you?" Finnegan asked. "Because he seems quite fond of you."

"He abhors half-fey who proclaim to be full-blooded," Mark corrected. "He has stated: there is nothing more despicable as a liar claiming to speak only the truth. I fail to disagree with him on such a front."

Finnegan was reminded of the story of how Meliorn, a half-fey who could lie, had tricked Mark into believing that his family had all perished. Because everyone believed Meliorn couldn't lie, he had tricked the Clave into believing the Seelie Queen was loyal to the Nephilim during the war, but in Mark's case, Mark had his spirits crushed thinking that all of his beloved family had died and he had nothing left to return to even should he escape Faerie somehow. In the world of Faerie, where most of the people who appeared fey could speak nothing but the truth, liars in general must be hated, but to be a half-fey who appeared unable to lie was so much crueler if that used that quirk for personal gain and misdeeds.

"It seems like full-blooded faeries would have better things to do," Ty said. He had pulled the headphones from his ears, and Finnegan could faintly hear classical music drifting from them. "Why would they join something like this?"

"It is a place for lost souls," Mark said. "And since the Cold Peace, many of the Fair Folk are lost. It makes sense."

"I saw them advertising at the Shadow Market," Emma said. "I saw Belinda there too. They seemed to be specifically looking for anyone with the Sight, anyone who seemed frightened or alone. Having a group to belong to, being promised good luck and wealth, getting strength from the sacrifices - you can see how it would be appealing."

"They do seem very confident," Cristina admitted. "How much do they know about the existence of Nephilim, I wonder?"

"Sterling seemed afraid of us. It's weird. He got picked, so that means they're going to sacrifice him. You'd think he'd want any help he could get, even from Shadowhunters."

"But getting help is forbidden, right?" Livvy reminded them. "If they caught him accepting it, they could torture him. Do worse than kill him."

Cristina shuddered. "Or he could be a true believer. Maybe he thinks it would be a sin to accept help."

"Men have gone to their deaths for less," Mark said.

"How many of them do you think there were? The Followers?"

"About three hundred," Julian said.

"Well, if we can't go to the faeries yet, we've got two options," Emma said. "One, we track down every one of those three hundred losers and beat them up until they tell us who did the actual killing."

"That seems impractical," Ty said. "And time-consuming."

"Or we could go straight to finding out who the leader is," Emma continued. "If anyone knows, it's that Belinda girl."

Julian ran a hand through his hair. "Belinda's not her real name-"

"Obviously," Finnegan muttered.

"I'm telling you, Johnny Rook knows her," Emma said. "In fact, he probably knows a lot, given that information about the Shadow World is his business. We're asking him."

"Yes, you agreed to this already in the car," Mark said, and frowned. "This cat is looking at me with judgment."

"He's not," Julian said. "That's just his face."

"You look at me the same way," Mark said, glancing at Julian. "Judgy face."

"This is still progress," Livvy said stubbornly. She glanced at Mark sideways, and Finn could see anxiety in her gaze. It was so rare for Livvy to show the worry she felt that Emma sat up straight. "We should go to the faerie convoy, tell them the Followers are responsible-"

"We can't," Diana interrupted, appearing in the doorway. "The fey were very specific. 'The one with blood on his hands.' You might think they want progress reports, but I don't think they do. They want results, and that's all."

"How long have you been eavesdropping?" Julian asked, though there was no hostility in the question. He glanced at his watch. "It's awfully late for you to be here."

Diana sighed. She _did_ look bone weary. Her hair was untidy and she was uncharacteristically dressed down in a sweatshirt and jeans. There was a long scrape across one of her cheeks.

"I went by the convergence on my way back from Ojai," she explained. "I got in and out fast. Only had to kill one Mantid." She sighed again. "It doesn't look like anyone's been back there since the night you went. I'm worried our necromancer's found a new place."

"Well, if he doesn't use a convergence, the next time he uses dark magic, he'll show up on Magnus's map," Ty pointed out.

"Did you find anything useful in Ojai?" Emma asked. "What warlock is up there? It's not anyone we know, is it?"

"No." Diana leaned against the doorjamb, clearly not planning on saying anything else. "I did hear about the Followers; I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you were tracking them down here. I wish you'd told me, but-"

"You'd already left," Julian said. He leaned back on his hands. His dress shirt stretched across his chest. Emma looked away at the sight for some reason. "But I can give you the summary."

As he started to talk, Emma quietly turned and walked out of the room. Finnegan took the chance to slip out as well, exhausted from the day's events and figuring that he could give Diana a rundown of what happened when Fionn returned. Then again, the storm outside had worsened: Gusts tore around the Institute, rattling the copper gutters, streaking the panes of glass with feathery patterns of silver. In the distance, lightning flashed over the water, illuminating it like a sheet of glass. If Fionn wanted to get into the Institute, he needed a Shadowhunter to let him in, meaning he needed outside transportation. In that weather, rain was highly likely, and rain wasn't healthy for Fionn.

Finnegan went back to his room in the LA Institute. For the same reason Fionn might not be able to come there, Finn wouldn't be able to get back to the Frisco Institute. Not that his people didn't already know he had a lot of business working with the LA Institute under Clave orders.

Despite his heavy exhaustion, he stayed awake, looking out his window for any sign of an approaching faerie steed. He didn't know how long he'd have to wait, but he wanted to wait nonetheless. At least until he gone some message from the others. He'd protected them all using Zoltan's power and he'd dropped them off at Lock's - Veon's - place, so Veon or Fionn or Selina should at least send a message.

He waiting for only half an hour before someone arrived, but it wasn't from outside.

Mark Blackthorn came through his door with only a single knock to announce his presence. He was still in his formal clothes; they were very dark against his blond hair. Anyone else would have seemed awkward, anyone else would have asked if they were barging in or interrupting, but Mark behaved as if he'd arrived for an appointment.

"Am I a hindrance to my family?" he asked bluntly. No introduction, no '_Hello, sorry it's late._'

"Hindrance?" Finn repeated. "In what way?"

"This investigation has become about me. About my family trying to keep me here. My presence is stealing from you the meaning of what you were doing."

"You mean how the Blackthorns are all doing this for you rather than for justice."

He nodded.

"It sounds to _me_ like you're looking for an excuse."

Mark frowned gently in the same way Fionn often did when he was confused. There weren't a lot of opportunities to peacefully confuse a faerie - confuse them without suspicion of foul play, of course. "An excuse," he repeated.

"An excuse to choose the Hunt when and if the opportunity is presented," Finn elaborated. "You're beginning to like it here, and you're beginning to see a need for you to stay. You're family is beginning to integrate you back into their lives, to the point that leaving them would leave a large hole in their hearts that you have worked to fill and mend without even meaning to. You have one person to go back to in the Hunt, someone who has lived a life without love before you came into the picture. You owe him much, but you also love him. But here you have so many hearts you have touched, so many people pulling for you to stay. You are being pulled from both sides, like you're caught at the center of a tug-of-war game, but you want to find one thing on this side to push you away. You wish to find a reason to be repelled from here to return to the Hunt."

Mark shifted ever so slightly. He masked his thoughts very well, but not well enough to be completely stoic-faced. "You are observant. You think many thoughts, Finnegan. I can understand Fionn Flann's appeal in your character. I can also understand his _fear_ of your character."

"He fears me?"

"He…respects you greatly. Enough to be his equal. Enough that he relaxes in your presence. He…becomes very human. You might be convinced he is a long-lost Blackthorn of half-human origin rather than I."

A small smile crept onto his face. "Oh no. He's a faerie all the way."

"You are correct in your assessment, however. I had my hopes that you would understand, because you are not a Blackthorn."

"If you want me to tell you that you should get the hell out because you don't belong here, I can't say that with a straight face. Unfortunately, when you've grown up meek as I have and then you grow up with a faerie as your closest friend, lying doesn't come easy to you. My conscience has just gotten too strong."

"What was your relation with Fionn like? How did you meet?"

Finn sat on his bed and waved for Mark to join him if he wanted to. "My father had crossed the line one day and destroyed my mother's guitar - pretty much my most valued object that she'd left me. My mother's music had been a hobby that was scorned just like Julian's art. When I was really little, my father hadn't protested to it, but especially when my mom passed, my music was never to interfere with my Shadowhunter training. He became more aggressive, and then one day he snapped. And so did I.

"I ran away. I was fed up with everything, I felt this overwhelming…sadness, I guess you could call it. There isn't a word for how much it hurt. I glamoured myself and ran into an abandoned alley to get away from crowds. Fionn was riding his steed and coincidentally found me. I tried to dismiss him and ran away, heading into a building and up to the roof with some glamouring magic, but he followed me. His horse caught me just as I tried to jump."

"To end your own life?"

Finn nodded ever so slightly. "Yeah. I told you, it was bad." He didn't know why he was admitting this to Mark, but if there was anyone he _could_ admit it to, Mark wasn't the worst option in the world. "But Fionn caught me. I broke out into tears. He looked positively terrified at the sight. It would've been funny if the situation weren't so depressing, a faerie afraid of a Shadowhunter breaking down. He ended up taking me to Lock - Zytaveon - and I met a vampire girl and a werewolf guy who couldn't seem to stand each other, but who dropped everything to try and help me. And so began my slow recovery.

"Out of all of my new Downworlder friends, Fionn was the only one who didn't really know how to interact with me. He was still working on his human-interaction, and he knew I was delicate, so at first, he kept his distance. But in a world where I'd hated most Shadowhunters I came into contact with - not _all_, but _most_ \- a faerie was the most mysterious thing to me. The fact that he wasn't human made me like him. It started with small conversation where we both had no idea what the flip we were doing. Then, slowly but surely, he became the first person I wanted to see when I went to meet the others. He was the first one that I wanted to impress, maybe because he was a faerie with different expectations than humans. I wanted to be his friend because he was different, and then somewhere in the middle, I wanted to be more. It was a _long_ process to either of us realizing our feelings though. We were both clueless dorks trying our best in a world that we didn't understand - a small, little world where our race never mattered, where we could be friends just because we were friends, without all the prejudice."

"Your love story is heart-warming."

"What about you and Kieran? All of your experiences together, from the people that you were during your meeting to the people that you are now. Are you ready for it to be nothing but a memory? Or do you want even more experiences? Do you think you want to see how you grow as people together even more? You were an unlikely pair, but I find that an unlikely pair have even _more_ incentive to stay together. Then again, I've seen you with your family. The Blackthorns are crazy and loving and you make their lives brighter.

"I'm not jealous of the choice you have to make. I've been told I'm too empathetic for a Shadowhunter, because even if it isn't my choice to make, I feel like I'll be torn in half either way just watching you have to say goodbye to either your family or Kieran. I'll admit, I've tossed around the idea of Fionn bringing you out of the Hunt sometimes to visit your family. I know it wouldn't be much, I know it'd be risky as hell, but I can't help but imagine a world where you got everything."

"I am touched by your sympathies. Thank you Finnegan."

"But I can't be the one to push you to the Hunt and away from your family. They love you, they're better with you. And so is Kieran. You are his entire world. No matter if he has Fionn, if you left him, he would lose everything - including his faith in those he loved. Can you imagine him finding a new lover if someone he had given his heart to betrayed him and his vows? He would lose all confidence in love, or at least the love of humans. But your family has had a hole in their lives ever since you were taken away. Helen wasn't able to raise them, and Julian has borne the burden of the eldest sibling in your wake. The children have all come to love you, from Tavvy and his young child's mind to Tiberius and his reclusive personality that not many can comprehend nor accept. You were returned to them with the faerie in you at full force, and that made you an enigma, same as Fionn was once an enigma to me. That only seemed to make you even more appealing. You are a wonderful brother to them, and I have a feeling it's too late to simply pull out of their lives without repercussions."

Mark let out a heavy sigh and leaned back to flop onto the bed. He was so human in that moment that Finn couldn't help his smile. "You are not easing my heart, Finnegan."

Finn chuckled. "Sorry. Like I said, I'm not jealous of you, but I feel your pain. No matter what you choose, I'll be behind you either way. But you shouldn't base your choice off of debt - what you owe to Kieran as his lover or what you owe to your siblings as their brother. This is about _your_ feelings, _your_ choice, and what _you_ think you want more."

He chuckled. "Fionn said the same. You are of one mind."

Finn smiled fondly. "I guess we're rubbing off on each other."

"You love him deeply."

"Yeah."

"To choose your family over your lover. What would be your choice were you in my position?"

"I've thought about that a lot, actually. Even if I'm not in your immediate position, there could always be a moment in the future where I have to make my choice. I don't ever want to make the choice, but I've decided that it would be Fionn. I would never be happy losing my family or him, but…there's no good way to say it, but I'd choose Fionn. Not happily. It's my parabatai and my sister that we're talking about. Fionn…I not only owe him, but I don't think I could ever live knowing I'd betrayed him for my own needs. A family should stand by you no matter what, but a lover who stands by you without obligation, knowing who you are - all your flaws, your species, no matter how forbidden it is - someone who stands by you despite the odds…that's a person that I can't just let go. It's risky. It's stupid. I'm not saying it should always be lover over family. I'm just saying how it would be for _me_. I hope I never have to make that choice, but if I do, my mind's made up."

Mark stared pensively at the ceiling silently.

"I don't know Kieran as well as you do, but I can tell that you love each other a lot. The question is: how much would it hurt to lose everything you ever had between each other? Personally, I would choose to stay with my family, fake Kieran's death and kidnap him, but it's not just Kieran that you'd be going back to in the Hunt. You'll be losing all of the experiences that come with it - riding your steeds through the beautiful lands of Faerie, feeling that freedom, seeing the world like no one else in the human world ever could, and doing it all with someone that you love and trust. It's certainly easier to care for only one person over so many Blackthorns."

"They have each other, even should I depart," Mark agreed. "Kieran would have no one, his heart would be hardened with betrayal." He sat up and got to his feet in one swift motion. "I give you my thanks for granting me your wisdom, Sir Finnegan."

Finn's nose crinkled. "Oh, don't call me 'Sir'. I feel old enough as it is. I should be thanking _you_ for tolerating my attempt at being philosophical and rambling on for ages. You have two lives to choose from; neither are perfect, but both have their appeals. Just be careful. As you're being pulled from both directions, you're seeking out a reason to be pushed away, Mark. That kind of thought process turns pessimistic, and that's not healthy. If you're not careful, these two desirable lives may end up _both_ turning around to push you rather than to pull, and you'll be left with no good options rather than one good option or the other."

Mark's gaze was blank, lost in deep thought that Finn was all too familiar with. "I will bear that in mind. Thank you again, Finnegan."

He hurried out of the room with a determined gaze.

Finn sighed and laid back on his bed, realizing how tired he was and that giving long speeches was _not_ the way to re-energize. He had ended up wasting the last of his energy, and the warm sheets of his bed were just a _little_ too comfortable. He gave in to the thralls of sleep.

He hadn't even considered the fact that merging with an Astral would give him weird nightmares.

* * *

**Chapter title: '_Natural_' by Imagine Dragons**


	14. I Was a Stranger to Myself

**Posting because I can! Whoo!**

**Hehe, it's been nearly a month and I haven't updated once let alone gotten to my computer to write anything at all for this story or any of my others and I decided it was a great idea to drive myself to exhaustion because I want to be social this year. Woot.**

* * *

When Fionn stepped through the portal into the Los Angeles Institute, his scowl was deep enough to strike the fear of Faerie into anyone who saw him. Luckily, there was no one in the main foyer when he arrived.

Fionn didn't like arguing with Lock (Veon) because the warlock had been nothing but benevolent to him ever since they'd met. However, Fionn would _not_ allow Dearil to be brought back, not now, not when Fionn was needed more than ever. Whatever Mark Blackthorn chose, Fionn needed to be there for his brother and potentially Mark himself. Not to mention that he was currently being hunted by half of the Astral world now. He couldn't afford any weaknesses. He needed to figure out how Finnegan factored into the Astral world, how Fionn had found some kind of immunity to the Scourge, and what was expected of him from the Astral community - saving the Infernians and all.

He headed up the stairs and to the hall of living quarters. As he turned down the hall, he found Mark exiting Finnegan's room and headed further down the hall towards Emma Carstairs's room. Fionn felt irrational concern and went into Finnegan's room. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but Finnegan was asleep on his bed, still dressed in his formal outfit. Fionn sighed, remembering the events of the night and how exhausted he was likely to be.

Fionn went into the drawers where Finnegan kept his sleeping attire and picked out a shirt and pants. He changed Finnegan and then tucked him into bed before choosing his own comfortable clothes to change into, leaving his tux in a neat pile at the side of the room. Finnegan's clothes were slightly baggy, but nothing he couldn't handle. All he had to do was tie a knot with the waistband - an easy task with the loose, elastic sleepwear. He went out to check on Mark before he turned in, knowing that it was his duty to look after Mark and Kieran would berate him if he used the night's events as an excuse to slack off.

"They should not be working on this only to keep me, when I might not stay," Mark was saying to Emma.

Fionn paused outside Emma Carstairs's room, feeling it would be inappropriate to barge in at the moment.

"You wouldn't go back to Faerie," Emma insisted. "You wouldn't."

Fionn nearly rolled his eyes. He hated Emma's tenacity sometimes, insisting things would work out how she wanted them as though it was preordained simply because she willed it. She spoke as though she knew Mark better than he knew himself, as if he would neglect everything he'd experienced in the Hunt just for her sake and the rest of the Blackthorns - as though Mark owed it to them to give away his life just because he was their blood. Emma was a Shadowhunter, and no matter how open she attempted to be, she was prejudice without realizing it. She didn't know what it was like to ride with the Hunt, how fun it could be as a Faerie, how radiant the lands of Faerie could be if you're properly prepared. She probably would never be _able_ to know because faeries hated Shadowhunters and would never allow them to see the beautiful side of Faerie even if she wanted to. Fionn almost pitied her for that fact.

"All that was promised was that I would choose," Mark retaliated. "I have not…I cannot…" His hands balled into fists at his sides, the frustration clear on his face. "I thought you would understand. You are not a Blackthorn."

Fionn internally sighed. He was looking for some excuse to leave his family. He was becoming attached to them. He didn't want to love this place, he didn't want to be so tempted to stay, and so he was searching for a reason to need to leave.

"I am Julian's parabatai," Emma said. "And Julian needs you to stay."

"Julian is strong."

"Julian _is_ strong. But you are his brother. And if you go - I don't know if I can pick up those pieces."

His eyes flickered back to her closet. "We survive losses," he whispered.

"We do," Emma said. "But my parents didn't leave me on purpose. I don't know what would have happened to me if they had."

Thunder cracked from the storm outside, snapping through the room. Mark's hand crept to his throat. "When I hear thunder, see lightning, I think I should be riding through it. My blood calls out for the sky."

"Who gave you that pendant?" Emma asked. "It's an elf-bolt, isn't it?"

"In the Hunt, I had skill with them. I could strike at an enemy while riding, and hit the target nine times out of ten. He called me 'elf-shot' because-" Mark broke off, turning to look at Emma where she perched on the bed. "We are alike, you and I. The storm calls you as it calls me, doesn't it? I saw in your eyes earlier - you wanted to be out in it. To run on the beach, perhaps, as the lightning comes down."

Emma took a shaking breath. "Mark, I don't-"

Fionn turned and saw Julian approaching, but the Shadowhunter wasn't focused on him. He had changed out of his suit. He stepped past Fionn and into the room, drawing attention to himself and by extension Fionn, who had silently been lurking at the door.

"What's going on?" Julian blurted.

The look on his face as he glanced from Mark to Emma…it was hard to describe. Jealousy, perhaps, but it was more than that. Julian was protective of his family, but he was also soft on them - Emma was no exception. Julian was also good at masking his feelings, and so he had a mix of jealousy, acceptance, caution, and rage all boiling beneath a mask of serenity.

"If you two are busy," he said, and his voice was like the edge of a knife, "with each other, I can come back some other time."

Well, it wasn't hidden _perfectly_. When it came to his parabatai, Julian was slightly more uneasy with his strong façade.

Mark looked puzzled. Emma stared. "Mark and I were talking," she said. "That's it."

"We are done now," Mark announced. He rose to his feet, one of his hands resting on the elf-bolt.

Julian looked at them both levelly. "Tomorrow afternoon, Diana's taking Cristina to Malcolm's. Something about Cristina needing to interview the High Warlock about how we do things here as opposed to Mexico City. Probably Diana just wants to check up on how Malcolm's translation is coming and she needs an excuse."

"Okay, then we can head to Rook's," Emma said. "Or I could go on my own if you want - he's used to me. Not that our last interaction was so friendly." She frowned.

"No, I'll come with you," Julian said. "Rook needs to understand it's serious."

"And I?" Mark asked. "Am I to be a part of this expedition?"

"No," Julian said. "Johnny Rook can't know you're back. The Clave doesn't know, and Rook is someone who doesn't keep secrets, he sells them."

Mark looked up at his brother through his hair, his strange, odd-colored eyes gleaming. "Then I suppose I will sleep in."

He gave one last glance at Emma's closet - there was something in his expression, something disquieted - and left.

"Fionn." The faerie nodded and turned to follow after the half-fey down the hall, Mark closing the door to Emma's room behind him. "How long were you listening?"

"Long enough to understand your motives behind this visit to the Carstairs girl."

"Finnegan understood. It was foolish to believe Emma would as well."

"Foolishly clinging to false hope is a very human trait. It is only natural."

"It is not only reserved to humans, Fionn Flann," Mark said, giving him a knowing look.

"I do not fool myself, living to deny the challenges laid before me. I live knowing my odds of failure, Mark Blackthorn, and I do not attempt to misguide myself."

"You still hope, Fionn. Even knowing your odds, you hope same as any human."

Fionn could say nothing. After all, his pure faerie blood couldn't deny the truth.

* * *

_"**You are not ready yet.**"_

_ "Mom?"_

_ "**Where is your sister?**"_

_ "She got into the Scholomance. Top of her class. You'd be proud of her."_

_ "**His protection will not be enough.**"_

_ "Whose?"_

_ "**The forbidden Astral. Her fate is sealed; he will not be enough.**"_

_ "Mom?"_

_ A different voice spoke, not his mother's. "What's your name, kid?"_

_ Finn was sitting in an alley and looking up at a stranger. He had fiery red hair peeking out from a beige hat that matched his old-timey suit that looked like it was from the 1950s._

_ "Sc-Scion," he told the man meekly._

_ "Scion, eh? Cool name. You a Shadowhunter?"_

_ Finn felt like he hadn't spoken in weeks and he was still readjusting to having a voice. He opened his mouth to try to speak, but ended up simply nodding._

_ "Why you in such a hurry?"_

_ "I…he told me to run."_

_ "Who?"_

_ "The warlock. He helped me, then told me to run."_

_ The man raised his gaze as though rolling his eyes to the angel above. "Right," he sighed. "Come on."_

_ He held out his hand, and Finn stared at it dumbly._

_ "A warlock friend of mine said he was sending someone my way to help. If you don't believe me, you're free to deny my services, but I can't guarantee you'll be safe from your parents and your people."_

_ Finn flinched, filled with a sudden wave of dread. He reached out and clasped the man's offered hand, feeling a strong tug as he was hauled to his feet by strength he hadn't been expecting._

_ "What's your name?" Finn asked._

_ The man tipped his hat, lifting it ever so slightly to reveal pointed ears were hidden beneath it in his hair. "Phoenix."_

_ "You're a faerie," Finn blurted, surprised._

_ "Sort of."_

_ "What does _that_ mean?"_

_ "I'm of faerie origin…sort of. I'm not bound by truth, but don't let that get you down. In case it wasn't obvious, I'm not a stuck up snob and I'm more human than you'd assume. But I _am_ here to help. I can give you the details once we get to a safer location. If you're willing to trust me, I'll take good care of you and get you on your feet. Then, you can choose to stay with me or go out into the mundane world on your own."_

_ He turned and began to walk away and Finn felt his feet moving without thought to keep up with Phoenix. "Where are we going?"_

_ "My mansion, of course!"_

_ "Mansion?"_

_ The mansion was enormous. It looked like nothing more than a regular apartment building on the outside, but on the inside Finn was greeted with a foyer worthy of an Institute. He followed Phoenix down the large red carpet that led forward from the front doors to a grand staircase. At the top of the staircase there were three paths: additional staircases leading up and to the left and up and to the right, and two large doors that went up to the cavernous ceiling. Finn wondered if those doors were as heavy as they looked._

_ "Now, the guest rooms are in the East wing to the right, my room as all the way at the end of the West wing, and that room right there is the ballroom," Phoenix explained. "I have a library, a living room, a music room, a greenhouse, a pool, a game room, and a gym so far. If there's anything you think you need, don't hesitate to ask. I always love to expand my repertoire."_

_ A million questions were on the tip of his tongue, but the only thing that actually came out was, "It's clean."_

_ Phoenix stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide in surprise. His face relaxed into a smile as he laughed. "Yes. It's magically sustained."_

_ He removed his hat and tossed it behind him. Just before it hit the ground, it spontaneously combusted into flames and vanished within a second. Without his hat, Finn took in Phoenix's face. He looked like a faerie with his sharp features, pointed ears, shimmering hair that was an unnatural shade of red, and luminous red irises. Normally Finn couldn't tell you the eye-color of people he met after their first encounter, but there was no way for him _not_ to notice Phoenix's eyes._

_ It took Finn a moment to realize that Phoenix's eyes were studying his own the same as Finn was studying his. "I wonder…" he muttered._

_ Finn blinked and averted his gaze shyly. "Sorry."_

_ "Why did he guide me to _you?_" Phoenix continued._

_ "Who?" Finn couldn't help but ask._

_ It was Phoenix's turn to avert his eyes. "Nothing. A friend of mine urged me to go out today, and - what do you know? - I run into you. Perhaps it was fate. Anyway, Aurum will show you to your room. Get cleaned up, get changed. Feel free to have a shower or a bath, brush your teeth, whatever you humans do for your personal hygiene. Dinner will be in the dining hall at 6 - about one and a half hours from now. Don't worry, the closets will know your measurements and Aurum will guide you where you want to go."_

_ "Aurum?"_

_ Finn looked down at the sound of a dog's bark and saw a dog with a smooth mat of midnight black fur and a golden collar. Its eyes were red like Phoenix's, glowing unnaturally, as though the irises contained the blood of all its victims mixed together in a horrific brew. If Finn didn't know any better, he'd call this dog the very definition of a hellhound._

_ The dog stared at him with its piercing eyes and Finn wasn't ashamed to say that he froze in terror. Then, the dog closed its eyes and tilted its head to use it's hind leg to scratch its ear. Like the removal of a glamour, the dog suddenly looked like a normal labrador. That didn't make Finn feel any less tense, and Phoenix seemed to notice._

_ "Don't worry. He's not scary unless you lie to him."_

_ "Lie?"_

_ "He's a hound of Faerie, an Astral of truth. Along with Argentum, of course."_

_ An identical hound to Aurum walked out from behind Phoenix. Finn was sure the dog hadn't been there a moment before. The only difference between Aurum and Argentum were their collars - gold and silver alike._

_ "Now, off you pop, Nephilim. I'll make sure to have a human-safe dinner prepared by the time you're done cleaning up."_

_ Phoenix clapped and Aurum stood to begin walking up the grand staircase. Finn sighed, wondering what he'd gotten himself into, before following after the black hound._

_ Finn had to admit, the bath was nice. The clothes left out for him appeared mysteriously on the bed - all black, a simple shirt and pants made for combat. It would be something he normally wore on a night out on patrol, and - true to Phoenix's word - they fit perfectly. Aurum led Finn into the West wing and into a large dining hall with a table so long it could probably sit everyone at Finn's Institute all at once._

_ "Welcome!"_

_ Finn was sitting at the seat just to the right of the head of the table where Phoenix was. Finn admitted that the steak dinner smelled delicious and he wasn't one to protest such good brownies, but he hesitated._

_ "Oh, don't worry about it being fey food," Phoenix said. "You're not in Faerie, and I'm not gonna bind you to my mansion if you eat my food or anything. I'm not _that_ lonely."_

_ Finn was still hesitant, but Phoenix just shrugged and didn't press him any further._

_ "So, little Scion," Phoenix said through a mouthful of steak. His etiquette was abysmal despite how fancy he might've looked upon first glance. Faeries _always_ looked so beautiful, almost ethereal, Finn thought to himself. "Tell me about yourself."_

_ Finn was hesitant to speak for the same reason he was hesitant to eat._

_ "Oh, right, I promised I was gonna give you an explanation about _me_ first, eh? Well, have you ever thought about the gods before?"_

_ A week had gone by. Finn had been taken shopping in the mundane world. Phoenix was a good guide, teaching him all about currency, what mundanes did for entertainment, and how Finn could hide himself even from the Shadow World. Phoenix bought him a guitar to play and showed him the music room with a grand piano. The entire library was available to him, he was being taught about technology, and Finn admitted he was beginning to feel spoiled. He learned that Phoenix was far more advanced than mundanes - he had technology and science far beyond what mundanes had managed._

_ One month had gone by. Finn was learning about the legal system of mundanes and how they were fighting for and against equal rights. He began to relate it to Shadowhunters and Downworlders. He was learning more modern music styles rather than the classical music he was limited to in the Shadowhunter world. Phoenix was no longer an untrustworthy stranger, but he was more than enough to be considered an enigma. He continued to amaze Finn each day with his mysterious godly powers, but when it came down to things, he was a regular guy. He had likes and dislikes, he had a sense of humor, and he was eager to teach Finn things._

_ Three months had gone by. Finn was learning how to dance from Phoenix, both fancy ballroom waltzes and faster choreographed dances for parties. He learned that Phoenix could draw and activate runes on Finn's skin just by touching them. It made a shiver go down his spine each time Phoenix did something with his runes since it didn't feel the same as when he activated them using a stele. Phoenix pulled him close for a waltz and Finn realized what he was feeling. He ran out of the room with his heart pounding, wondering why he felt the way he did - wondering what his parents would think of him if they knew he was like this. What his entire race of people would think of him._

_ He had a crisis of what the heck he was doing, where he was planning to go in the future. He would never see his friends or family again, and if he did, they'd be hunting him down to either kill him or bring him back to that horrible life that he'd so desperately ran away from. Life with Phoenix was good - hell, it was great. But he didn't know where it was going. What if his feelings messed things up? Where would he go if he didn't have Phoenix? What would happen if he was ever caught?_

_ "Did I do something wrong?" Phoenix asked._

_ "No, nothing," Finn insisted._

_ He had spent the rest of the day avoiding Phoenix at all costs, finding reasons to escape the room whenever Phoenix came near. He had nearly run into a couple doorframes with the speed he had tried to exit. It was only once he tripped down the stairs in his fleeing that Phoenix caught up to him and brought him to the infirmary despite both of them being fully capable of healing with magic or iratzes. It was just an excuse for Phoenix to corner him while he was down, confiscating his stele and forcing Phoenix to be the only way he could get the pain of his twisted ankle to stop._

_ "Scion, I may not be a proper faerie, but I'm a god. I'm not a god of truths, but I know when you're lying. Don't make me get the hounds to prove it."_

_ In all honesty, they both knew that Aurum and Argentum were taking a great liking to Finn over the recent days. The two dogs were becoming more loyal to the Shadowhunter than Phoenix, and more often than not they went to Finn before Phoenix for everything. Still, Finn encouraged them to favor Phoenix too - after all, Phoenix _was_ their original master._

_ "Look, I'm…I guess I just realized. My family, my people…I started wondering what they'd be thinking of me right now. And I just…once it's in my head, it just won't go away."_

_ Phoenix stared at him for a long moment, his thoughts unreadable, and then he stepped forward and let out a heavy sigh, taking Finn by the shoulders. "You're not defined by your people, Scion. You shouldn't be worried about their opinions of you because you're your own person now. How many times do I have to tell you? I won't tolerate this level self-deprecation in my household, mister."_

_ He poked Finn in the forehead, something that Phoenix had been doing ever since they'd met. He normally did it when he was trying to point out Finn was being stupid and knock him out of a stupor where he was thinking too hard. Finn found it irrationally sweet._

_ "I don't wanna lose this," he admitted. "My people…I don't think I can go back to them. I don't know where I'd have gone if you hadn't helped, but they would've found me and I'd have been taken back. I'd have never made it on my own, never learned peace and what being myself really means. What I mean is…thank you. For - For helping me so much. Tolerating all my…crap."_

_ "Shit, Scion. Call it what it is and fucking curse like a man."_

_ Finn shoved him away. "Must you be so vulgar?!"_

_ Phoenix shrugged in that nonchalant way only he had ever been able to pull off. "I'm a god. I can be as vulgar as I like, and I can try my damned hardest to be a bad influence on the people around me. You're such an innocent soul that I take it as a challenge to strip away all of your purity."_

_ "You are the worst friend ever!"_

_ Phoenix had only laughed, and it made Finn's stomach twist into knots._

_ After that, Finn managed to keep things between him and Phoenix normal. It became easier to contain his feelings and play things off as friendship. He couldn't help but wonder if Phoenix felt anything beyond friendship for him, but with Phoenix's invasive yet caring personality, it was hard to tell where to draw the line. Phoenix had dedicated himself to helping out the strays of the Shadow World - be they Nephilim or Downworlders - and he was kind to everyone he met (despite appearing rude and vulgar on the surface). His friendliness knew no bounds, quite literally, and so Finn found himself confused as to how he should feel and how Phoenix felt._

_ He couldn't help how his chest tightened at times and his muscles froze up when he thought too hard about Phoenix - his actions, his voice and words, his appearance. His heart sped up and he wondered sometimes if he was blushing when he began to heat up in Phoenix's presence; surely blushing was just a myth since Phoenix never said anything about it, and when he _did_ mention anything close it was in a playful and joking manner that wasn't to be taken seriously. He desired Phoenix's touch, but whenever he managed to receive it, his body seized, he wasn't able to think straight, and quickly pulled away without thinking about it._

_ He kept this series of reactions subtle - as much as he could, anyway - and Phoenix didn't seem to notice anything. Finn wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about these feelings, but delaying confronting them was working so far, and no matter how brave he felt he seemed, he instinctively hid and avoided his feelings at all times and couldn't break the habit. He saw nothing wrong with it, and he liked his relationship with Phoenix as it was, so he maintained their relationship status for a while._

_ Six months had gone by._

_ "Don't you like swimming?" Finn called._

_ Phoenix crossed his arms. "Not a big fan of water. I've got some water gods that aren't very happy with me. Let's just say having water up your nose is a tame version of the trauma they can leave you with. I'm a fire god. Water isn't my thing."_

_ Finn swam over to the edge of the pool where Phoenix was. "Then why do you even _have_ a pool?"_

_ "It's for my guests. You're not the only one that I've ever taken in. I try to make my guests as comfortable as possible - allowing them as many options as they want to enjoy themselves."_

_ Finn felt that familiar stab in his chest at the idea that he wasn't special to Phoenix. Phoenix was a god, after all. He'd probably seen more years than humanity itself had, he'd probably helped thousands of people, maybe not all of them one at a time, and he'd almost guaranteed fell in love with countless people. For a timeless man, mortals weren't anything special._

_ Finn dipped beneath the water and swam around the pool. He had been trained to hold his breath for a long time as a Shadowhunter, but unfortunately there weren't any runes that allowed him to fully breathe underwater. He liked the quiet of the water where sound was muffled. It felt like his own private world where he could be left to his thoughts. Even if he couldn't breathe freely, there was something relaxing about holding his breath underwater. He had to learn to open his eyes in saltwater, freshwater, and chlorine-filled water now, and he loved looking up at the water's surface from below. Even though gravity still had a hold on him, he could almost disorient himself and convince himself he was flying._

_ He could see Phoenix in the murky refracted light from beneath the water's surface, and eventually Phoenix sat down and put his bare feet into the water. Finn couldn't resist the opportunity and swam over to Phoenix as fast as possible, rising to the surface and splashing him with all the water he could gather from his momentum. He smiled as he saw the result of his work - an absolutely soaked Phoenix._

_ Phoenix wiped the water from his eyes as his hair was set ablaze. "Oh, it's _on_, Shadowhunter!"_

_ He raised his hands and the entire pool rose up into a tidal wave that came crashing down on Finn. He realized, too late, that Phoenix was an Infernian of the elements - meaning that though he didn't _like_ water, he still had the ability to control it._

_ He would later learn that Phoenix was an adaptor, meaning he could learn to control any power that he came across. Someone else had to already have the ability and Phoenix wasn't an instant master. He had to take his time and learn a new skill the old fashioned way like everyone else. It took experimentation and time, there was often trial and error, and Phoenix had hurt himself more than once in not fully understanding a new skill. But water? That he knew how to control._

_ Finn had nearly ended up drowning from Phoenix's assault. At first, he had been pretending to drown in order to get Phoenix to stop (and perhaps feel bad enough to make up for it later) but then he found Phoenix hadn't noticed in time and Finn couldn't breathe. He tried to, but all that came through his lungs was water. It was an overwhelming burning sensation, and at some point Finn passed out._

_ He woke up again to a burning sting in his chest. He struggled to breathe, and this time he was out of the water so that it was possible. He still had water in his lungs, which was interfering with his ability to breathe even if he _was_ out of the water. He felt a mouth sealing on his and his nose being plugged before the water in his throat and lungs was pulled out. Phoenix pulled back with a mouthful of water and spit it out to the side and Finn's pained throat stung even more as air finally passed through. No matter how painful it was, he was just glad to be able to breathe again._

_ "Sorry," Phoenix panted._

_ Finn wasn't sure why _he_ was out of breath. The man didn't need sleep, and Finn had found out that he often forgot to breathe. Sometimes the Astral forgot to blink, and he didn't get fatigued from small tasks like holding his arms up. He had once tried to make Finn curse by holding completely still, not blinking, not breathing, and pretending to be a statue. He had done that for an entire day as Finn searched the mansion for the real him and then he'd suddenly jumped to life screaming about wanting dinner. He'd managed to make Finn shout at the top of his lungs, but not curse._

_ "Sometimes I forget how delicate you mortals are. I'm used to fighting Astrals who are actually adept at hydrokinesis."_

_ Finn wanted to speak, but he knew that he shouldn't even try with the condition with his lungs and throat._

_ "Don't try to speak. Hold on, I'll heal you."_

_ He put his hand gently on Finn's chest and he felt a cooling feeling spread from Phoenix's palm. The pain began to fade away slowly but surely and breathing became easier and less painful. Soon, his chest felt as full and fulfilled as when he had been holding a full breath underwater._

_ Phoenix finally released his hand from Finn and fell back. "I probably ruined any love you had for swimming, didn't I? Sorry."_

_ Finn sat up slowly and saw Phoenix leaning against one of the lifeguard stands. He looked grim and disheveled. His hair was soaked but drying, swept back and dripping. His clothes were clinging to him because they were wet. At some point, he had changed his shorts to be swim trunks during their water duel. His ruby eyes looked darker than usual. He looked so pensive, so…upset. So guilty._

_ Finn had never seen him like that before. Normally, Phoenix was always one looking on the bright side, filled with cheer. He was immortal, pretty much all-powerful. What did he have to worry about, anyway? He kept things on the bright side, he was more eccentric than anyone Finn had ever met. He'd never been so serious before._

_ "What happened?" Finn asked._

_ "You drowned. I had to resuscitate you. I gave you the chance to break the surface, but you didn't. I overestimated your ability to stay underwater because I based it off of you when you stayed underwater without physical exertion. I'm sorry."_

_ "You…It all worked out in the end, didn't it? I'm fine."_

_ "I keep forgetting how delicate you humans are. Even if you're half angel, you…"_

_ "Did something happen?"_

_ Phoenix's eyes turned over to Finn. "In what manner?"_

_ "You hurt someone, didn't you? You keep saying that you've forgotten before."_

_ "I've hurt a _lot_ of people in the past." He looked out into the pool, which had lost a lot of water in the scuffle. Some of the pool was on the ceiling and it was still raining down. "I never seem to learn my lesson."_

_ "Have others died?"_

_ "Oh yes. Twenty seven of them."_

_ He held out his left arm and revealed deep scars. There were four different sets, the first three consisting of five vertical lines with an 'x' going through them - 7 tally marks - and the fourth five lines with only one line going from the top of the leftmost tally to the bottom of the rightmost one - 6 tally marks. Twenty-seven in all. They appeared small enough to have faded at the very least, but all of them looked like they had only half-healed at best._

_ "I was afraid you would be number twenty eight," Phoenix admitted._

_ Finn moved carefully to sit next to Phoenix, who wouldn't meet his gaze. He tried to come up with something to say, but when nothing else came to mind, he spoke the first thought he had. "Why do you count in sevens?"_

_ Phoenix glanced at him and then down at his arm. "Sevens are said to be lucky in some cultures. I figured, at first, that using seven would give me luck in preventing more tally marks from popping up. Now, I've got three sevens and a six. Coincidentally, three sevens are used on casino machines for the jackpot. Four sevens are considered even more lucky. I've never seen five sevens done before. I hope I never will. But when you're immortal, deaths are inevitable. The only way to stop these marks would be to stop loving, to stop using any of my power, to stop being who I am."_

_ "These marks are from people you love?"_

_ He nodded. His eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Finn had never known someone who could move their eyebrows so independently. He himself couldn't, so he couldn't help but be amazed by little things like that. "You thought it was something different?"_

_ "I thought it meant people you cared about in general."_

_ "Yeah." Phoenix turned his body so that he was facing straight at Finn, giving him a deadpan scowl. "People I love."_

_ Finn had a sudden moment of realization and he couldn't tell if he was blushing from embarrassment or if all the blood had drained from his face in horror of the mistake he'd made. "Oh, you probably meant - not like - nevermind me, I'm an idiot."_

_ "No, tell me." Phoenix's scowl turned into a smirk and he leaned in close. "What were you thinking I meant?"_

_ "Well, you know…"_

_ Finn tried to avert his eyes, but Phoenix was so close that it was impossible. He tried to pull back, but Phoenix grabbed his chin and forced him to meet his fiery gaze. "Could it be…you thought I meant people I love _romantically?_"_

_ "We - I - yeah, t-that's the logical place I thought - my mind went."_

_ "Then why are you so nervous, if not because you thought I was saying I love you?"_

_ Okay now the answer was definitely blushing out of embarrassment because Finn felt like he was sweating hot despite still being slightly drenched in pool water. "I-I…you…no, I mean, not if - that's not…well I kinda-"_

_ Phoenix shut him up with a kiss. It took Finn a moment to realize what was happening, and when he did, he forgot how to human. A shudder passed through him, a feeling of warmth that resembled the odd feeling he'd been recently having whenever Phoenix had gotten too close or said something really nice to him - only it was a hundred times more intense. If those previous flares of this feeling were little sparks, this was a gods-damned fireworks show._

_ Finding no resistance, Phoenix leaned in further and slid his hand behind Finn's head, lacing his finger through the Shadowhunter's hair. Finn felt his lips prodded open and then his mind completely melted into a puddle of goo. Had he closed his eyes at some point? Well he must have since his eyes were closed now. Finn let out a deep breath he wasn't aware he was holding through his nose as all the tension in his body faded and he gripped Phoenix back and wrapped his arms around Phoenix's neck._

_ Phoenix was the one to break things off, staying close, but though his eyes were clouded with lust, his face was serious, even sad. "You humans are so phobic of your lovers," he chided._

_ Finn blinked a few times, trying to process what Phoenix had just said, then what he had meant by that. Before he could string his thoughts together, Phoenix pulled away and Finn realized how comfortable he was being surrounded by the other man's warmth. He had a momentary panic, leaning forward to pursue him before he managed to stop himself - though it felt like stabbing a knife into his chest._

_ "Wait, what…" Finn struggled to find his voice. "What do you mean?"_

_ Phoenix lounged back, leaning back on his arms with one leg straight out and the other pulled closer and bent (a position that Finn suspected was purposefully trying to make him blush), and sighed. "I know that you've defected from the Nephilim society, but…I don't know how you feel about me as I am."_

_ "In…in what way?"_

_ "As a faerie, as a god, as a faerie god." Finn couldn't help his small snort, which prompted the corners of Phoenix's lips to perk up. "As a man, as well. I can temporarily change my sex if so desired, but at the moment my default is a man and I like it that way. If you and your Nephilim ways don't like the idea of kissing another man, just say the word and I'll back off."_

_ "And…what happens if I _don't_…say the word?"_

_ Phoenix smirked. "You'll learn that I can be very…intense in my old age. I'm thousands of years old; I'm not very traditional; I don't follow stereotypes and prejudice and I don't condone homophobes, transphobes, racism, and the like. I'm a man, I'm a god - some of my immortal…acquaintances say that I'm a bit of a lothario. I can't help it if I like falling in love sometimes. I make no promises that there won't be complications considering how I'm immortal and you're not. I'm thousands of years old, you are not. I'm semi-omnipotent and all-powerful, you are not." His ruby eyes locked onto Finn's. "This is who I am. Do you think you can accept that?"_

_ Finn had trouble finding his tongue. His brain gave the command to say something positive - maybe a 'yeah' or a 'sure' or maybe just an 'mm-hmm.' Instead he couldn't even find his thoughts, let alone his tongue. He probably ended up imitating a hungry fish as he tried to speak, which just made Phoenix laugh and sit forward._

_ "Let me make it easier." He moved to be on the balls of his feet and the tips of his fingers as he crawled forward to be face to face with Finn. "Do you want to kiss me again?"_

_ Finn swallowed, feeling that intense nervous joy building up in him again. His expression must've spoken for him, because Phoenix smiled and then closed the remaining distance between their lips._

_ Finn's eyes closed automatically without him thinking about it. He felt like he was floating, and at the same time his limbs felt heavy as lead. He couldn't move, overwhelmed by the feeling of desire coursing through him. He smelled Phoenix's natural smell of a campfire up close, tasted a bittersweet, oddly satisfying combination of smoke and honey. His mind liquified as he relaxed into Phoenix's embrace, and he didn't protest as Phoenix closed the distance between the rest of their bodies as well._

_ "There is a war on the horizon."_

_ "That's no excuse for you to just abandon me! I don't care that you're more powerful than me, it doesn't give you the authority to just do with me as you please! Locking me up in your mansion won't stop me, I'll find a way! Don't forget that I'm blessed by the gods or whatever - that's why Aurum and Argentum like me and it's why all your Astral friends trust me. I'll find someone willing to free me, and the only difference between you taking me and trying to lock me up is that I'm going to either still love you or I'm going to be out there on my lonesome in the middle of a war and you'll never know where I am."_

_ Phoenix was frustrated. Sadly enough, Finn's words rung true and there was nothing Phoenix could say to counter it._

_ "This is a war of the gods," he said, though his voice was barely a whisper._

_ "I know. But I'm going to stay with you, make sure you're okay. I can't survive without you."_

_ "You'll be in danger."_

_ "So will you."_

_ "But you're more vulnerable."_

_ "I'm blessed, remember? I'm already in too deep for you to kick me out. I can handle myself just as well as you can."_

_ Phoenix played with the odds in his head. The contemplation on his face was clear to see, after all the time Finn had spent with him. "Scion?"_

_ "Yeah?"_

_ "Promise me that we live…and die…together."_

_ "What's that mean?"_

_ "I won't let it become 28."_

_ Finn felt a punch in the gut at those words. He couldn't live with more losses, especially ones that he could prevent. He wouldn't be the one to suffer from survival again. Phoenix had lost enough people to the curse that was being associated with him, and a war that Finn would follow him into would be more than enough to push him into a depression - or worse, insanity. At the same time, he knew that he wasn't going to make Finn go through the same process of survivor's guilt._

_ "I promise. You're not getting away from me that easily. So, what are we up against?"_

_ Phoenix couldn't help his light smile. "Well, for starters, there's this thing called the Scourge. My older brother is one of the most ancient Astrals - the Infernian Ifrit…_"

"Finnegan," Phoenix whispered.

"Hm," he hummed.

"Wake, Finnegan. Arise."

He tried to open his eyes, but he realized they were stuck together. He realized he was groggier than he assumed. When he forced his eyes open, he saw Phoenix and wondered whether it had been a dream or not. It had felt so real at the time, but now all the time that had gone by in his dream was slowly fading as all his dreams often did. He remembered the most basic parts, but it felt more foreign than it had when he was in the POV position.

"I…"

For some reason, he couldn't remember this person's name. He remembered that this person wasn't Phoenix, so he held his tongue when he was tempted to speak the name.

"You…you're…"

"Fionn Flann," he answered.

It finally clicked in Finn's mind and he snapped awake. "Fae!"

"Ah, awoken you are."

He wiped the crusts from his eyes and realized how bright it was - the sun was coming through his windows, and based on the angle of the sun, it was late in the day. Sometime overnight, the storm had washed the sky clean of clouds, and the afternoon sun was bright.

"Did your dreams fare thee well?" Fionn asked.

Fionn had changed out of his suit and was actually wearing some of Finnegan's pajamas. The shirt that was normally long on him but fit otherwise was baggy on Fionn but was long enough to make up for the fact that he was taller. If he were to raise his arms too high, Finnegan might be able to see a peak of his stomach, but otherwise, it was a good length on him. It was white and short-sleeved so that Finn could see some faded scars on Fionn's arms, and it hung so that Finn could see the faerie's clavicles peeking out from the crew neckline. His elf-bolt necklace was hanging on the outside of his shirt freely. He had to tie the waistband to make sure the pants weren't sliding down, but the pants had elastic at the ankles so that even though they were long, they fit Finnegan - therefore making it so that the pajama pants were already long enough to fit Fionn's height perfectly. His hair was uncharacteristically smooth and untangled, making Finnegan wonder if he'd gotten any sleep.

Either way, seeing Fionn in his clothes made Finnegan uncomfortably warm. "Yeah, it was…all good. How long have you been awake?"

"Many hours, Finnegan. I wake with the sun."

Finnegan blushed. "Sorry I made you wait."

He had a gentle smile that was so familiar. Finn realized it was a smile that he'd seen in his dream on Phoenix. "Worry not, my Hunter. I was not the only person to wake at reasonable hours."

Finn's nose wrinkled. "_You_ call it 'reasonable,' I call it 'ungodly hours of the morning' and 'the main reason coffee is the most abused drug in America.'"

He watched as Fionn resisted a smile, but eventually had to avert his gaze to the carpet and hide his face behind his flowing honey-colored bangs laced with amber highlights today. His curtain of hair was always so perfect - more fluffy than human hair, like a supermodel's that was perpetually in a state of having just been washed. Fionn was rarely ever bashful; hell, most faeries in _general_ wouldn't be caught dead looking bashful to a human. It was so adorable.

"What time is it?"

Fionn pointed to the clock. "Beyond the sun's highest point, my Hunter. The lady of the moon tells me you often sleep throughout the day and function properly in the shadows of the night, similar to a vampire. Very Nephilim, you are."

Finn chuckled. "'Black for hunting through the night.'"

"Dress and prepare for your day. Julian Blackthorn requested I inform you he and Emma Carstairs are to depart for the residence of Rook."

"Johnny Rook. Right. And Cristina's going over to Malcolm's with Diana. I knew that. Right."

Fionn smiled and leaned down to kiss Finnegan lightly. "Make haste if you desire a farewell to your comrades. They are scheduled to depart soon."

"Why are they waiting so long to leave?"

"Emma Carstairs appears to share your trait of desiring sleep beyond what is necessary for your body to function properly. I was informed we are to supervise the younger children while Cristina Rosales, Julian Blackthorn, Emma Carstairs, and Diana Wrayburn are away."

Finn couldn't resist stealing a longer kiss as he climbed out of bed. "I'll get ready," Finnegan promised. "See you down there."

Fionn nodded and left, quiet as a cat, and Finnegan admired him as he left. He never ceased to hold that elegance of a faerie, which was juxtaposed by his casual human attire. Why did Finnegan think it was so hot when Fionn was in clothes slightly too big for him? In _Finn's_ clothes in particular? Finn shook his head, trying to purge the warm feeling in his chest when he realized he might have an entire day of seeing such a domestic Fionn.

Once he was gone, Finnegan moved to close the door of his room (Fionn was unaccustomed to closing doors because privacy was something he still lacked much respect for). His sighed and rubbed his eyes, still feeling drowsy. He had wanted to see where his dream was going, but already the details had faded from his dream. There was nothing more frustrating to wake up to than having a good dream interrupted and subsequently forgotten almost instantly. He remembered the more recent bits about accepting Phoenix as a lover despite his status as a deity of sorts.

He had known that some of those other gods had called Fionn Phoenix, but…seeing it had been a whole different story. He had expected Phoenix to look a _little_ different, but he'd remembered falling in love with him over the course of _months_ as a new person. Scion.

Finn blushed lightly at the memory of kissing Phoenix in his dream. Then again, hadn't they learned that Fionn was the Astral Phoenix? Scion had been taught about the Astrals, so that meant Scion had fallen in love with Phoenix. _The_ Phoenix. The one who had reincarnated as Fionn. That meant that Finnegan was a reincarnation of Scion? '_The Scion of the Angels_,' they had called him. He sighed and shook the thought away. Now wasn't the time to be racking his brain over it. So he was Scion. Whatever that meant.

Finn debated getting dressed, but honestly, he really didn't want to go out today, and an excuse not to be part of the action was, for once, welcome. He'd hear all about Emma and Julian's adventures with Rook and Cristina's distraction techniques when they got back. For now, the worst thing he had to deal with was babysitting the Blackthorns.

He grabbed his phone and sent a text to Selina regarding the situation, and she responded that she'd handle the paperwork of the Institute when she could, but she was busy at Veon's place helping out their new Astral friends. Since they'd figured out Fionn wasn't radiating Scourge, they were considering bringing Seline back into the action. He told her he would trust her instincts on the matter either way. It wasn't like there was a big difference between Selina and Seline. Just a letter. And maybe some godliness.

He headed down to the kitchen, realizing how hungry he was. He needed a big brunch as soon as possible.

Finn found Emma heading to the parking lot and figured he'd best check in with Julian and Diana before they left on their respective missions.

"I thought Cristina was going to be here," Mark was saying as Emma approached. "I did not realize she was going to Malcolm's. I did not think that I would be left alone with the children."

"They're not children," Julian said, nodding a greeting at Emma and Finnegan. "Ty and Livvy are fifteen; they've looked after the others before. Besides, Fionn will be with you too."

"I'm staying at the LA Institute as well," Finnegan announced. "I'd be happy to chaperone all you children. I know we didn't get to fully discuss things before, but I think it's wise to have a Shadowhunter adult here. Fionn's pretty well-versed in human ways, but I have a feeling he's not a very good parental figure."

"Tiberius is angry that you are not allowing him to come with you to Rook's," Mark said. "He said he was going to lock himself in his room."

"Terrific," Julian muttered. His voice was rough; he looked as if he hadn't slept. Finn wondered what could have kept him up. Research? "I guess you'll know where he is. Look, the only one who needs looking after is Tavvy."

Mark looked ill with horror. "I know."

"He's a kid, not a bomb," Emma said, buckling on a weapons belt. There were several seraph blades and a stele thrust through it. She wasn't in gear, just jeans and a jacket that would hide the sword on her back. Not that she expected trouble, but she hated going out without Cortana, currently napping in the trunk. "It'll be okay. Dru and Livvy can help; they're used to looking after Tavvy, they know what he likes to do to keep entertained, what he likes to eat, etc. And Finnegan's adult enough to be a chaperone. I hope."

"I grew up with two teenage girls all my life, so looking after the girls should be no problem," Finnegan promised. "If Ty's sulking in his room, I'm not really sure how that'll go, but if you say at least we know where he is, that's good enough for me."

"Maybe this mission of yours is too dangerous," Mark said, as Julian slammed the trunk shut. "A faerie would tell you that a rook is a black crow - a bird of ill omen."

"I know," Julian said, sliding a final, thin dagger into the holder strapped around his wrist. "It also means to cheat or to swindle. It was my word of the day last year from Diana."

"Johnny Rook is a swindler, all right," Emma agreed. "He swindles _mundanes_. We'll be fine."

"Never go into a confrontation with a cunning man without caution," Finn warned. "Fionn has taught me over the years how to talk to faeries when I need something from them. Their blunt truths make them defensive and evasive when it comes to dealing with humans. Rook isn't a faerie, and that makes him much worse. If you're arrogant enough to think dealing with mundanes makes him easy to handle, you're going to fall right into his traps. I don't have confidence he likes Shadowhunters much. I'm trusting Julian to keep you in check and do most of the talking."

"I take offense to that."

"At least tell me you have something to bargain for his info."

"Duh. I'm not an idiot."

Finn sighed. "Well, Julian's watching over you, so if things go wrong, at least he'll probably have a plan. Be careful with your threats, Emma. Always assume the man's got something up his sleeve. Beyond that, good luck."

"The children could set themselves on fire," Mark was saying. He didn't sound like he was joking.

"Ty and Livvy are _fifteen_," Emma pointed out. "They're nearly the same age you were when you joined the Hunt. And you were-"

"What?" Mark turned his odd eyes on her. "I was fine?"

Emma flushed. "An afternoon in their own home is not exactly the same as being kidnapped by cannibalistic faerie predators."

"We didn't eat people," Mark said indignantly. "At least not to my knowledge. I could ask Fionn."

Finnegan cleared his throat. "I'm sure Fionn could handle them if they set themselves on fire. He's good with fire."

Julian unlocked the driver's side door and slid inside. Emma climbed into the passenger seat as he leaned out the window and looked sympathetically at his brother. "Mark, we have to go. If anything happens, have Finnegan or Livvy text us, but right now Rook is the best chance we have. Okay?"

Mark straightened up as if readying for battle. "Okay."

"And if they _do_ manage to set themselves on fire?"

"Yes?"

"You'd better find a way to put them out."

* * *

**Chapter title: '_Like You Mean It_' by Ruelle - like seriously all her songs are amazing**


	15. 100 Bad Days Made 100 Good Stories

**My life is insane right now, I am mentally and physically exhausted, but I'm still somewhat writing in the background. Paragraph by paragraph. This part of this story was pre-written and apparently I didn't realize it, but since I'm both busy and no one's really interested in my reading, I'm not going to be making a lot of writing. Reviews encourage me to write, but for the next month especially, I'm not even getting close to a full night's sleep let alone keeping up with my classes.**

**Sorry I couldn't make anything for Valentine's day, but I will post some poetry that I was forced to write for my creative writing class over on FictionPress in honor of the holiday.**

**So yeah. Enjoy**

**:)**

* * *

"If in desperate need, yes, we would resort to the consumption of our dead comrades for the sake of survival."

"Mark, you didn't _actually_ need to ask him if you were cannibals," Finnegan sighed.

"Do you know how to cook, Finnegan?" Dru asked.

"Uh, sorta. Got anything in mind? I can't make anything special, but if you have a cookbook, I could follow instructions. Come to think of it, I'm hungry too."

"The pantry's over here. Can we choose something to eat?"

"Um, sure. You'd know your kitchen better than me."

"I want sugar," Tavvy announced.

"Do you guys have anything sugary?" Finn asked.

"We have a bag of sugar," Livvy announced.

"I want a bag of sugar," Tavvy revised.

"You _cannot_ eat a bag of sugar," Finn declared.

"Why not?" Fionn asked innocently.

"Because it's unhealthy."

"Well can I at least make some chocolate milk?" Dru asked.

"Sure."

"Dru can have chocolate milk but I can't have sugar?" Tavvy protested.

"What if we just put him inside a bag of sugar and make him promise not to eat it?" Mark suggested.

"There's no guarantee that he _wouldn't_ eat the whole thing once you've put him _inside a bag of sugar_. You can't just put a child in a bag of sugar!"

"I see not the problem, Finnegan," Fionn said. "The child just desires to play within sugar."

"Children lie, Fionn. There are no carnivorous trees to threaten him with here."

"I want something to eat still," Livvy announced.

"We can figure something out. Uh…how about grilled cheese? I can manage grilled cheese."

"Can I put syrup on mine?"

"Why would you put syrup on grilled cheese?"

"Because you can put syrup on anything."

He sighed. "Fine, whatever. You can put syrup on it. Where are the pans?"

"Might I attempt to cook, Finnegan?" Mark asked. "I remember learning some recipes before I was taken to Faerie. I would revel at the opportunity to cook like a human again."

"Sure, we can cook together."

"I want breakfast," Dru said. "Pancakes, bacon, and eggs."

"Do you _have_ the stuff for pancakes, bacon, and eggs?"

"Of course we do!"

"Well, choose what you all want from the pantry and fridge and Mark and I will handle things involving the stove."

"Can we have candy?" Livvy asked.

"If you can find some, but _limit yourselves!_"

Dru, Tavvy, and Livvy got to work in the pantry and the fridge, sifting around and searching for something they'd like to eat. Dru began making her chocolate milk before she remembered to show Finn where they kept the pots and pans. She helped him find some butter, bread, and cheese to make grilled cheese sandwiches. Mark retrieved eggs from the fridge and excitedly prepared to cook them, grabbing a white apron with red hearts on it. Livvy pulled out some Pepsi, which Finn figured was fine for her to have - she was 15, it wasn't like they were forbidden from having Pepsi if they had the drink in the first place. He got out some sour cream since back at the Frisco Institute, some people liked grilled cheese with sour cream. The syrup was already out and also ketchup for some reason. Livvy had found some licorice, sharing a piece with her sister and little brother. Livvy put the licorice away after pulling out a few sticks, but she looked very tempted to get a few _more_ pieces.

Finn caught Tavvy sneaking into the pantry and managed to prevent him from getting a swim in a bag of sugar. Finn placed the sugar bags up on the counter where he could keep an eye on them. He prevented Dru from adding some extra ingredients to her chocolate milk (condiments) before he started making the grilled cheese. He supervised Mark's cooking, finding a lid that he could put over the pan making eggs that would help the eggs cook more evenly. Mark protested that he wanted to flip them in the pan like he'd seen done before, but Finn honestly was scared of eggs going flying across the room or landing on the stove which would require cleaning.

"If all else fails, use the toaster to make toast," Finn sighed. "I've had my fair share of failures, but you really can't go wrong with toast. The toaster does all the work anyway."

With a million things to already keep track of, Finn's mind was going into overdrive, keeping his eyes on all of the Blackthorns - including Mark.

"My Hunter, allow me to assist," Fionn chuckled.

Finnegan jumped, realizing that Fionn was here. He said the first thing that came to mind, hoping that he didn't sound harsh after the fact. "You can _help_ by standing there, looking cute, and not causing trouble. Dru, please do _not_ add Coke to your chocolate milk."

"It's not Coke; it's Pepsi."

"Same difference! What was I saying?"

"I should stand here, looking cute, and prevent trouble," Fionn recalled.

Finnegan felt his throat constrict as he tried to keep his thoughts straight. "I…well, you can also _sit down_ if you want…"

He needed to stop getting distracted by how odd yet cute Fionn looked wearing not only human clothes (although that in it of itself was strangely appealing) but _Finnegan's_ clothes. Nothing fancy like a tux, either, just regular sleepwear.

Well, things weren't going terribly. All things considered, keeping track of the Blackthorns was going okay. Finnegan just wondered how long he'd need to keep this up.

"Guys, please don't rip open the bag of candy. Find some scissors."

-_**TTOT**_-

"Thanks, Mat," Laura finished, clicking the button to end the call. "I've got a Necromian on the way."

Max nodded from the other side of the room, holding out five books in front of her with her telekinesis. "Did you know memory demons could transform into entire hurricanes?"

Laura chuckled. "Yes, I knew that. You always seem to forget that I'm far older than you - even as a warlock. And I've got access or partial-omniscience as an Astral."

"Well there's always more to learn about the world. Anyway, I haven't found anything of what Malcolm did to her. Debilitating a memory demon and beating them at their own game isn't easy. It's like Val's entire mind is a bowl of memory porridge; her mind and memories are _there_, but nothing's clearcut. I'd call it a coma, but with a coma the memories are often just shut down, like turning off after hours in an office building. This is like…she's there, but her consciousness has been put in a blender and there's no way to pull herself together."

Laura moved to sit down next to Max. "There _is_ some kind of magic that's powerful enough to beat mental-based characters at their own game, but it's dark magic. It involves some bad ingredients, witch-like stuff. Most warlocks would avoid such methods because it poisons their own magic in the process. If you use too much witch-like magic, you begin to lose a part of yourself, piece by piece. It can turn mortals into monsters, warlocks into demons. I wonder just what Malcolm has gotten himself into, but if this even has the chance that he got involved with the witches, it means that Malcolm has become a top priority for all Astrals. I'll get the word out about him."

"For now, it doesn't matter what Malcolm's done or did. We need to fix Val."

Laura wrapped an arm over Max's shoulders and used her other hand to take Max's trembling one. "We'll fix her. Your sister's tough. And we all know that Andy will stop at nothing to get her back. Seline will be joining the efforts soon enough, but while we wait for Val, let's get to work on this investigation. If we leave Rios alone for too long, who _knows_ what trouble he'll get into?"

Max sighed, releasing the tension from her body. "Right. Let's focus on stopping this cult. Try and do something a little more mundane than fighting the rest of the gods and worrying about the fate of the world."

"See? That's the spirit."

-_**TTOT**_-

Finnegan grabbed his phone when it rang. "Hey, Veon, how are things going over there?"

"_Better than they could be, in all honesty. Let's see…Selina's still recovering from the waking of the Astral within - if you feel any fatigue from your parabatai bond, that's probably why - Val's at least stable even if we haven't found a way to snap her out of her daze, and Andy's refrained from killing anything over it. He's a pretty nice guy, but the son of an incubus holds a great deal of power. His father's a pretty unique incubus in the sense that he's a pretty nice person and therefore raised Andy as a good person, but with the power of an Astral of the sun or whatever brewing beneath the surface, I admit that he scares me sometimes._"

"What about Mr. Prissy Moth Man?"

Veon snickered. "_Falorios has been investigating with Max and Laura on Malcolm, this Sterling guy, and the Guardian. We've found that the info on this Lottery is whispered around the Shadow World if you look innocent enough when investigating. Luckily, Max and Laura aren't very well known in the Shadow World. Andy and Val are a bit more notorious - they run multiple successful businesses, but Laura and Max are well hidden. Max found out that there are two days after the number gets picked before the kill has to happen, and the energy of the death of a supernatural creature powers the spell that makes them all stronger. Most importantly, the leader - this Guardian, shows up for the kill. If you Shadowhunters do your Shadowhunty thing and stalk Sterling till it's his time to die, you might just find out who the Guardian is. I have a feeling that Malcolm might be with him._"

"What makes you say that?"

"_Well, first off, he's trying his damn hardest to mess with our investigation, and since Val was shadowing Malcolm and planning to sneak into his place before she went missing only to show up at the Lottery, he has to have _some _connection to these people. A powerful warlock helping this man - or woman, we can't be sure - do all this black magic stuff?_"

"And how do we know the Guardian isn't Malcolm himself, Veon? I know you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but…we can't outrule the idea that all of Malcolm's meddling could mean he himself is a part of this. Like you said, a powerful warlock would be just the thing needed for something like this."

"_Malcolm has been my friend for _centuries_. He's gone through a lot of things, as all warlocks do, but I know that he's a good person deep down under. I wouldn't be surprised if he's being lied to or if he's being manipulated or if he's being blackmailed or-_"

"Veon, deep breaths. I'm sorry I brought it up, but if we want to know the truth, there's always the possibility that we could question Malcolm himself."

"_Considering what happened to Val, I don't think direct confrontation is going to go well. He's too powerful to take lightly, and we can't exactly tell the Clave without revealing our investigation. Malcolm can charm people, and with Max's well-known abilities in manipulating minds and Andy being a son of an incubus, our word isn't going to be trusted with those stuck-up snobs. They're lazy as all get out, and if they can just ignore a problem in the Downworld, the odds are that the higher ups are going to turn a blind eye so long as the killings don't involve them._"

"What about Alec and Magnus?"

"_I don't want to involve them unless I have to. Magnus and Alec are already under so much pressure with the skeptics talking against uniting the Downworld and Shadowhunters - plus they have a _kid _on top of all of it._"

"I hear you. Well, at least we have a plan. If Emma and Julian can get some lead on where to find Sterling, we'll be one step closer."

"_We're researching Sterling now. Falorios has a lot of moth servants scouring for information. He's got a bunch of identities, but Rios has more moths. _Way _more._"

"That's good. Keep me updated on what you find, I'll keep you posted about what _we_ find."

"Finnegan," Mark called.

He looked up to see Mark at the doorway, looking slightly urgent.

"Gotta go. Looking after the Blackthorns."

"_Ah, have fun with that. Caterina's been taking my shifts at the Shadowhunter Academy, and I've never realized how relaxing it is without children to look after._"

"Looking after children at their home and looking after children at school feel like two _very_ different things. Bye."

"_See ya._"

Finnegan hung up and hurried over to Mark. "What's happening?"

"Ty fails to respond when I attempt to summon him for lunch. Would it be proper to force my way into his room?"

"Depends on the method of force."

"Breaking down the door?"

"Or…how about Fionn and I just work some magic?"

"Unlock runes are not working on his door. He has sealed it to be immune."

"Well, then it looks like Fionn will have to try with his more powerful runes then."

After teaching Fionn the unlock rune and having him practice drawing it a couple times, he drew the unlock rune on Ty's door, the rune blazing red, and the lock clicked open. They searched around, but Ty didn't appear to be anywhere in his room.

"What are we to do?" Mark asked.

"I don't know," Finnegan shrugged. "I don't know Tiberius well enough to know where he'd be hiding in the Institute."

"Shall we contact Julian Blackthorn?" Fionn suggested.

"Yes. Mark, get to texting him, but we need to head back to the kitchen. How long have the three of them been unsupervised?"

"Approximately seven minutes and forty three seconds," Fionn volunteered.

"Thank you."

Heading back to the kitchen, Finn found that the girls had emptied the fridge, searching for things to put on sandwiches because they were impatient with the grilled cheese. It could've been worse, honestly, so he let them make their sandwiches as they pleased. Finn managed to save one of the grilled cheese, but Mark's eggs had been left for too long and were now burning. Finn gave him permission to make a new batch, but it was _not_ an excuse to now go without the lid to the pan. Tavvy had tried to sneak the sugar bag, but he hadn't been able to open it before Finn noticed its absence and retrieved it from under the table.

"One of you had to have helped him get it," Finn accused. "Now, I'm not Julian, I'm not your parents, and I'm not even Mark, but I _hope_ that I'm enough of an authority figure to be asking for your respect. Which means when I say 'Do not put Tavvy in a bag of sugar,' I expect you to help _avoid_ putting Tavvy in a bag of sugar."

His phone beeped and he pulled it out, finding that Veon had sent him some pictures of maps. Certain areas had red dots marked. Veon texted that they were suspected locations that Sterling had been spotted.

"We should go looking for him," Livvy said.

"Not without informing Julian and Diana."

"I need an excuse to get out of here," she sighed. "Being stuck 'translating' here is _boring_."

"I'm sorry if Julian cares about your well-being, I really am. But you can't go anywhere without his permission. Sorry. And Fionn, you can't take them anywhere on Zoltan."

"I doubt the steed would allow them access to his services."

"And since you're sixteen, you can't drive anywhere, which limits your mobility."

Mark looked up from the phone in his hands, figuring out how to text Julian. "Is sixteen not a _mundane_ limit upon driving etiquette? You do not have to obey mundane laws. You can drive when you so please - if one is willing to teach and you are willing to listen."

"I learned to drive at thirteen, but I never got to actually _use_ those skills until I was around seventeen," Finnegan shrugged. "Driving isn't _that_ necessary a skill. Portals and horses serve me well. Have _you_ even learned to drive, Mark?"

"Even _I_ have more experience within a mundane vehicle," Fionn muttered.

Finn raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"It is a weary tale of commandeering a van to infiltrate a mundane factory and free cargo of Shadow World origin."

He pronounced 'Van' more like 'Vaan.' Finnegan's heart did a slight leap, realizing that Fionn had a slight accent, hidden by years of practice. He had never noticed it before, but after his dream about Phoenix, he realized that Phoenix had had a Scottish accent - or _some_ kind of accent from a faerie language being his first language. Fionn spoke with less of an American accent than Finnegan had ever noticed. He hit his consonants harder than he really needed to and there was a slight raise in his vowels. Finnegan thought back and deduced that it was a normal thing that he heard from those of Faerie origin, but not just any faeries. Those of a higher class - gentry faeries, and even royalty. Finn blushed when he realized he'd forgotten that Fionn was a prince.

"I am informing Julian of the situation," Mark announced, skillfully evading Fionn's tale of apparently driving a van.

'_CAN'T FIND TY_'

After a moment, Julian replied - faster than Finn had assumed he would. He must've been looking at his phone when the message had come in. '_DID YOU LOOK IN HIS BEDROOM?_'

Mark frowned at the screen and typed, '_DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A BUFFOON? OF COURSE I DID_'

"Buffoon?" Finn repeated.

'_WHAT DOES LIVVY SAY?_'

"Livia!" Mark called. "Where is Tiberius?!"

"Isn't he in his room?"

"No."

"Well then I don't know."

'_LIVVY SAYS SHE DOESN'T KNOW_'

There was a long pause of waiting before the next message came in. '_LIVVY'S LYING. SHE ALWAYS KNOWS WHERE TY IS. MAKE HER TELL YOU_'

Mark went over to Livvy while Finn stayed at the stove, tending to the grilled cheese sandwiches and saving Mark's eggs from meeting the same fate as the previous ones. Mark would later complain about not being able to finish making his eggs and would attempt another batch.

"So, about that story of driving a van," Finnegan smirked.

Fionn accepted a plate with a grilled cheese on it. Since he was immune to all types of heat, Finnegan wasn't worried about him burning himself on the freshly-cooked meal. He volunteered to take the other one which was a little crispier and cool enough for him to eat.

"It shall fail to impress, Finnegan," Fionn insisted, picking up his grilled cheese and studying it carefully. "We did not anticipate the quantity nor weight of our target cargo. Even if Zoltan desired the opportunity to carry the items, he would have no comfortable way to do so. And so we stole away within a van. Mark knew the vehicle would have substantial space, but he had little knowledge of how to operate the contraption. I learned of driving from Wolf. He complained, one day, of being the only one who required a vehicle to traverse human cities. My curiosity resulted in my - if abysmal - knowledge of the gas pedal, the brake pedal, the steering wheel, along with the lines which I needed to follow on the road and the three colored lights."

Finn usually hated crispy toast or bread, but his crunchy sandwich was made slightly better by the image of Fionn attempting to drive with only the knowledge about the pedal that made the vehicle move and the pedal that made it stop.

"Did you even know about the speed limit?"

"Yes," Fionn said defensively. "It became easier with practice. And it was the dead of night, and so very few vehicles were on the road to impede our progress."

"You never drove again?"

"Never. We escaped the city and decided we would be more efficient returning to the Hunt by our own means. We compacted the items to the best of our ability and dragged them with a makeshift sled."

Finnegan laughed.

He noticed that Livvy had run out of the room with Mark hurrying after her. Dru had made another cup of chocolate milk. Finnegan offered some of Mark's non-destroyed eggs while Dru started making some random sandwiches that involved both syrup and ketchup and even the sour cream. He was going to say that it wasn't healthy, but he figured that Dru would learn the hard way that putting every condiment on her sandwich at once wasn't making it taste any better. Tavvy had found a bag of candy and Finnegan agreed to let him choose some pieces so long as he didn't go overboard. Mark returned from chasing after Livvy, but he appeared to be unsuccessful.

"She has locked herself within her room," he announced.

"Tell Julian. It probably means that she knows something, but maybe he knows where Ty could be."

He looked down at his phone screen and began typing, backspacing a few times as he made errors on the touch screen.

'_LIVVY WON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. SHE'S LOCKED HERSELF IN HER ROOM. HELP_'

'_GO OUTSIDE AND LOOK FOR HIM IN THE BACK GARDEN_'

"Ty likes animals, doesn't he?" Finnegan pointed out. "He might be out there avoiding us because he's sulking about not being able to go to Rook's."

Mark nodded and typed, '_HEADED OUTSIDE_'

Mark headed out, following Julian's advice with his phone at the ready to ask for more help.

Finn sighed. If Ty was actually missing, there was no telling where he could run off to. On the bright side, Finnegan knew for a fact that both Livvy and Ty couldn't drive, so if Ty was attempting to run away, it was likely that Fionn could catch up using Zoltan. He hoped that Mark managed to find Ty out in the gardens, finding another stray animal to bring home just to annoy Julian for making him stay behind.

Finn went searching for a toaster and an electrical outlet in case they needed to resort to toast. Dru asked for brownies, and Finn agreed only because they had boxed brownies and it was practically the one thing he could make that involved an oven.

His phone went off again and the screen flashed '_Warlock._' "Hey, Lock - er, Veon."

"_Hey, so update on the whole-_"

"Julian will not respond to my messages," Mark called, returning to the kitchen.

Finn moved the mic of the phone away from his mouth but kept Veon's voice in his ear. "Try Emma's phone."

"_-and so you should check it out._"

"Sorry, say that again."

"_We found a suspected location of Sterling's place. Also we've made contact with some death gods who announce that they might be able to help us find the one that's been allowing a necromancer to run free. Necromians are reclusive, but there's one willing to meet you since you're…ya know, you. Blessed or something. He'll meet you outside the LA Institute when you're ready - and trust me, he'll know when you're ready. Since necromancy is so taboo in the world, he'll want to make things quick and just make sure no one is using necromancy for bad reasons._"

"I'll investigate it when I can."

"_I'm also sending you Sterling's suspected location if you or the other Shadowhunters wanna check it out._"

"We'll wait for Julian and Emma to return before we do investigating on any of Sterling's locations, but yeah, send it over just in case."

"Finnegan, Emma has informed me that Ty has been located infiltrating Rook's home and they have secured his safety."

"Go tell Livvy, see if it'll get her out of her room. I'd prefer having all the children in one place, please."

"_Location sent, Hunter. Have a party. We'll keep investigating on our end. Oh, and Finnegan?_"

"Yeah?"

There was a pause on Veon's end of the phone. "_Just…be wary of Malcolm. Andy found out for sure that it was Malcolm's magic that put Val in the state she's in. It's not a coma, but she isn't aware of herself either. I just hope that she isn't some kind of bomb waiting to go off, ready to respond to Malcolm's command the moment he needs her. There's no telling what she could do once she has a single-minded goal._"

"We'll be careful until you update us, Ve. Promise."

"_Good. Tell Fae hi._"

He pointed to the phone and mimicked a wave. Fionn nodded in understanding and waved back.

"_He says 'hey' back._"

"_Call you when we've got more._"

Finn thought to the few minutes between his previous calls, but decided to just let it be. He explained to the situation to Fionn once he'd hung up.

"You might meet this Necromian as soon as possible," Fionn said.

"I can't just leave the kids alone. Dru's already risking her life with those sandwiches, and for all I know, Tavvy's going to be sticking a fork in the toaster the moment I look the other way."

"You trust these children to do naught but harm upon themselves?"

Finnegan sighed. "I trust them to handle themselves, I do. They're Shadowhunters, they've grown up faster than regular kids. In this life, you're wielding a knife before you learn to tie your shoes."

"Mark and I shall use our collective knowledge of appeasing children to guard over the Blackthorns to the best of our ability. This meeting shall be succinct, no?"

Finn stared over at Dru, who had abandoned a couple sandwiches in disgust and started over. She'd eaten a couple of eggs. Finn had just finished mixing the batter for brownies, but he hadn't started the oven yet. It would be an ideal time to step away, and it'd only be for a few moments.

"Try not to upset them, but do try to avoid letting them kill themselves. Tell Mark those instructions too and that I'll be right back."

He called to Dru and Tavvy that he'd be back in a second and that Mark and Fionn were in charge until he returned. "I'm just going outside to look for something. I'm not leaving the Institute."

He hurried to the Sanctuary, planning to head outside the Institute, but someone was already waiting for him. Upon first glance, the stranger looked like a punk mundane teenager that had wandered in randomly. He was dressed in all black - skinny jeans, T-shirt, jacket, shoes, and hair. He looked pale as a ghost. He was looking down at a black phone when he noticed Finnegan arrive.

"You're him." His voice was smooth and cold, reminding Finn of the City of Bones for some reason. "Well, I admit I _am_ surprised."

"You're the necromancer god?"

"Necromian. Call me Mat. I know you've been trying to get into contact with one of us, but…well, we don't like people."

"So what brought you to be the exception?"

"I'm not like a lot of my kind. Beyond that, I know about you. You're hailed as a hero of the Ifrit War, but also a harbinger of death. No one knows what to really think of you. I honestly don't care. I just want to protect myself and mine own. You learned to fight the Scourge, you might know the key to reversing it and finding the culprits."

"You put a lot of hope into me, and yet I've just barely begun to learn about the world of Astrals. I barely even know what the Ifrit War is. I know an important and powerful person nearly destroyed the world; I know that Fionn and I were once a part of the battle to save the world and that we died only to return as we are now; I know that there's turmoil in the aftermath of the war with half the Astral realm untrustworthy of anyone who had been affiliated with the corrupted leader."

"It's a war that happened some half a century ago, where one of the founder gods of the Hexatheon was infected by the Scourge and nearly destroyed the world. He wasn't thinking straight, I don't think he had a goal - just destruction. Too many of us in the aftermath are focused on the threat of Ifrit's return, not the _true_ threat of the Scourge and whoever created it. Those in the higher ups aren't willing to acknowledge the witches, but the rest of us down here at the bottom know full well what to avoid to survive. But those who are being hunted by the Hexatheon for being related to the Infernians have it even harder. They have to walk on pins and needles. For the most part, they're left alone, but if they so much as sneeze wrong, they'll be taken in as potential threats. That's no way to live, no way to rule, and all we want is balance and peace to return."

"That sounds…familiar, somehow. After the Dark War, the faerie population was disgraced - even the innocents who had nothing to do with the war. Too many good people were and still are blamed for things they had nothing to do with. Faeries are on edge, Shadowhunters are quick to accuse and condemn, and it's a never-ending spiral of mistrust with innocents caught in the middle."

"That makes sense. Events in the Astral realm often mirror things that will or have happened in the human world. The Civil War, for example. The World Wars. The French Revolution. History often repeats itself, and many of the mistakes made relate to each other. The gods hardly ever change, it's not in our nature. We are concepts, ideas. Though some of the animal Astrals could potentially be wiped to extinction, that doesn't mean they couldn't somehow reemerge if given enough time. Once, this entire planet was nothing but space dust. We were all born out of nothingness, and even if we are reduced to nothingness, we can always come back. In return, we continue to have conflicts like this. Foolish, prejudice, inevitable."

"Why did you agree to help me? If you Necronamicons are so reclusive?"

"_Necromians_," he corrected with an icy glare, before his face then fell. "I have people that I care for that are at risk. Infernian descendants. My friends. My _family_. If those of Infernian blood get infected by the Scourge, no one steps up to help them. Most of our kind just keep getting pushed further and further into buying the stupid story that the Infernians are the source of the remaining Scourge - that Ifrit surviving was the only reason the Scourge still plagues our people and destroying or containing all of his creations is the only way to save us all. For every Infernian descendant that falls victim, we lose more and more morale. If a non-Infernian is infected, the Infernians are _still_ blamed just because of proximity.

"They can't fight against the Scourge any better than the other Astrals, so all they can do is hide, try to make themselves as invisible as possible, and pray to whatever higher powers that exist - and we're gods, so praying to higher beings is a shameful feat - to please avoid the Scourge in all forms, whether it be being infected or being kicked out of their homes because they're blamed for cases of it. I've always been a hermit, as a Necromian, but I've never wished my fate upon others. To have to constantly hide, knowing your presence makes people uncomfortable, learning to prefer to be alone in the shadows…I've seen so many bright Astrals darkened. I want it to stop. I just want everything to go back to how it was - simple, easy, where everything and everyone had a place, where there was _balance_."

"I…I don't know if I can promise that I can be helpful. I barely know what I'm doing."

"But you're still the best chance we have. You gained the blessings of all six of the Hexatheon, and something like that doesn't just go away with death. Even if Phoenix hadn't brought you back, I have a feeling that you still wouldn't be one to fade away so easily. Your soul is now unique, imbued with the powers of the gods without actually being one. Humanity is a powerful thing. A lot of us Astrals are _made_ from humans. Humanity is dangerous, especially when given the powers of the gods. Gods and mortals stay separate, that's how it's meant to be. Even demigods have to survive mostly on their own wit and power, we aren't allowed to interfere that often. You are humanity and gods combined, and that makes you respected and powerful and dangerous. You can change the fate of all Astrals, and I just hope that you use your power to save my people rather than disrupt the balance even further - beyond repair."

He took a deep breath, waving his hand as a bottle of water appeared in his hand. He pulled open the cap and downed the drink with trembling hands. Finn had a feeling that Mat wasn't used to this much talking. Finn knew what it was like to be socially anxious and afraid of saying the wrong things just because he hadn't ever interacted with a new person before. Mat was basically begging for not only his life but the lives of many people he cared for. The balance had been so disrupted that the gods had to resort to begging for salvation. It made Finn's heart ache for them. He wanted to help, somehow. But…

"I fear I'm a little in over my head," Finn admitted. "I barely understand my power or my position. Laura and Rios kept on saying that it wasn't time yet, maybe even saying that I needed to become an Astral myself. I want to help right _now_, but I still have more to learn about myself and what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm just a Shadowhunter, not an important one, not a memorable one, and I'm not an Astral."

Mat didn't miss a beat in his response. "You found Phoenix. You grew up with Seline watching over you. You are the child of the Oracle. You are far from just a Shadowhunter. You aren't important as a Shadowhunter because you aren't meant to be just a simple Shadowhunter. Nephilim are beneath you. But you aren't arrogant, so I appreciate that. You just need a little confidence, that's all. Anyway, a lot of the Astral world is behind you, so if you're ever in trouble, don't hesitate to scream for help. Most likely, we'll hear silent prayers, too. Just be careful. Some merely follow you because they fear your power or know to respect you, but if they see a sign of weakness-"

"Yeah, yeah, I've lived the life of a Shadowhunter long enough to know how careful I need to be."

Mat nodded. He'd finished off his bottle of water, crushing the plastic between his palms and causing it to completely disappear. "Now, I came because I was told you needed to find a necromancer. I can't find the necromancer directly since I wasn't the one who enacted the spell. A Necromian's power is being summoned one way or another - whether it be through some kind of spell from a book or from a magician, wizard, warlock, or witch who managed to gain the innate ability through some kind of deal. I'll be able to sense it again when the necromancer next uses this power and I'll most likely be able to pinpoint the source, but from what I've managed to gather from the recent cases in the past, it seems that an ancient book was stolen and utilized. We'd nearly forgotten about its existence since it's been so long since it was used. It has many names, but the simplest translation is '_The Black Book_' or '_The Black Volume_.' Sometimes there's an '_of the Dead_' or '_of Death_' thrown in at the end."

"This book is faerie in origin, right?"

"Back from before Nephilim existed, yes. It was a dark time in history, back when things were far more chaotic. You might call it a feudal era. It was also a much simpler time. Astrals could walk around freely - as could monsters. I sometimes find myself missing those days. In any case, the book is very old and therefore very powerful. It was built during a destructive time in history when mercy was a rare occurrence, where the only rules were that the weak serve the strong. But most of those spells work the same. Some kind of sacrifice involving a living creature is needed; the more powerful the spell, the more gross the sacrifice. There are things involving the bones of infants. Many infants." Mat looked lost in thought, but it was hard to say if he looked nostalgic or disgusted.

Finn tried not to think too hard about such a thing. "We've found that there's a Lottery involved in this case, where one person is chosen and sacrificed so that a bunch of people get some kind of blessings and get stronger. Sympathetic magic. Any of that ring a bell?"

"Sure, there are plenty of spells like that. Does this chosen sacrifice have to do anything in particular before they die?"

"In what way?"

"Certain spells require the body parts of murderers or maybe people who've cleansed themselves somehow. It's pretty specific, too. If it's that of a murderer, it will often be the hand that did the deed. If it's a virgin, it requires the…well, the organs. If it's someone who's gained enlightenment or some shit, it's usually the brain or the heart."

"We've found bodies that have been burnt and drowned in weird spell circles." Finn dug out his phone and searched to see if he had the pictures. He found them, to his relief, and handed the phone over to Mat. "Recognize any of it?"

"Flame to flood…yes, that does sound familiar. Fire and water together mean it's a powerful spell. I think I know a Necromian who works magic like that - or rather, two of them."

"Can we find them?"

"I'll ask them for details. They're the result of most spells that involve opposite forces being brought together. They're a cute couple, love being symbolic. And if they're the source of this evil, it probably means that they're helping because the necromancy is in the name of love. They've always been suckers for good romance stories - they love to make deals that bring dead loved ones back to life. Worse than Aphrodite, I swear. They're not bad people; they just care a little too much for love stories. When you're immortal gods, I guess it makes sense that watching mortals fall in love to the point that they'd beg for their loved ones even after they've died is a source of entertainment."

Finn sighed and rubbed his eyes. "So basically, we need to find these Necromians to find our necromancer. Meanwhile we're still trying to find this sacrifice before he dies and stop his murder."

"Look on the bright side. If the guy dies and the ritual goes through, I'll be able to pinpoint the source and location of the necromancer and bring them to an instant stop. If we can manage to find out the person's identity beforehand and cut off the source of their power, we can stop the ritual entirely. I'm not the most powerful Necromian out there, but I can track down a rogue necromancer."

"What about when it happens at a convergence?"

"Oh, yeah, that's nothing. Necromians can sense all necromancy, no matter where they are or where it happens. Another Astral might be fooled by a convergence interfering, depending on their connection to all things deathy, but it often comes to us like a dream - it can feel like it's happening longer than it actually is or shorter than it actually is, and though the details of the necromancy are clear _during_ the fact, the details fade pretty quickly if we get distracted by something else. If I focus on locating the next necromantic ritual, I won't forget about it so easily, as long as I'm consciously aware of what I'm looking for."

"Thanks for the help. The faster we resolve this necromancer issue, the faster I can get to helping your Astral realm."

"I appreciate that." It was hard to tell if he had a passive-aggressive undertone. "Tell Phoenix that we're also waiting for _him_, too. No matter what _you_ do, Phoenix needs to take over the seat of Ifrit on the Hexatheon or we'll never work things out. Come to Faerieland and you'll probably be able to see the effects for yourself, maybe teach Phoenix that he needs to get his butt in gear. You both have followers willing and waiting for your command. Andreaus and Laura are members, so look to them if you need connections from the rest of us. For now, you'd better get back in there with your children."

"They're not _my_ children."

"They're under your care. And I think I smell something burning." Mat smirked. "Good luck with that. I'll come to you when I've talked to my Necromian friends or if we've got more necromancy reports. Toodles."

He waved before melting into a puddle of shadows that seeped into the ground and vanished. Finn sighed. After all that, there still weren't clear answers. Just wait, wait, investigate. He decided all he could do was wait for Emma and Julian to return, compare notes on how to find Sterling, and wait for info on the necromancer. This was starting to get too complicated for him, honestly.

When the LA Institute car drove up, Finn realized just how long he had been speaking with Mat. Crap, Mat had said there was burning. Finn had most likely failed at life and the Blackthorns had killed themselves. He just hoped that Fionn had done _some_ damage control. Ty ran inside first, but Emma and Julian remained outside, speaking to each other. They looked despondent. Finn hurried inside, hoping he could clean up any mess that had been made and maybe salvage the situation.

Yeah, the universe wasn't gonna be that kind to him.

When he reentered the Institute, he started to smell the burning that Mat had mentioned. He rushed to the kitchen, hoping that some burnt food was the only thing that had happened.

"By the gods, I wasn't gone _that_ long!"

It looked as if the kitchen had exploded. The refrigerator had been emptied out, ketchup decorating its once-white surface in scarlet swirls; one of the pantry doors was hanging off its hinges; the Costco tub of maple syrup had apparently been emptied onto almost every available surface; the massive bag of powdered sugar had been torn open and Tavvy was sitting inside it, completely covered in white powder which made him look like a tiny abominable snowman. _Someone_ must have tried cooking, since there were multiple pans on the stove that had been added, filled with burned substances that were pouring smoke into the air. The flames were still on, and Fionn appeared to be trying to figure out how to turn them off by reaching into the stove fires and poking around. Bags of candy had been ripped open and littered the floor; Dru was sitting on the counter, poking at a glass of something foul looking that _definitely_ wasn't just chocolate milk and humming happily to herself; Livvy was curled up on one of the bench seats, giggling, a stick of licorice in her hand, and Ty was beside her, licking a speck of sugar from the back of his wrist.

Julian's kitchen - which he'd stocked with food for five years, kept clean and cooked in, made pancakes in - was destroyed.

Finnegan sprinted over to help Fionn turn off the stove. "For Raziel's sake…"

"My apologies, Finnegan," Fionn said. "I failed to comprehend their ill intent before…something exploded."

Finn looked up at Fionn and realized that he was covered in syrup and sugar. Based on the splatter patterns, he wasn't facing whoever or whatever doused him in syrup, and the sugar had been thrown at him from the front probably to blind him. Actually, there might've been other condiments thrown on him that Finn couldn't identify underneath the syrup and sugar. The bottom corner of his shirt had been singed, but Finnegan knew that the faerie himself was immune to heat and fire. Admittedly, seeing him in Finn's clothes while covered in condiments made laughter bubble up in Finn's stomach despite the dire situation.

"You need a bath. For now, I need my violin and a large bowl to clean this up with."

He hurried to find where he'd set his seraph violin while he made Fionn search for a large mixing bowl. When he returned, it appeared that Julian and Emma had found the mess. Finnegan winced, ready for a lecture from Julian about how he'd let this happen. Fionn was hanging his head with guilt as he explained how their cooking experience had gone wrong, and Finn rushed in to save Fionn.

"I'm _so_ sorry! I didn't think leaving them alone for a few minutes would hurt and then it turned into a few _more_ minutes and I came back to this, but I can fix it if I just-"

Julian and Emma's attention was drawn to the pantry as Mark emerged wearing his white apron with red hearts on it and carrying two pieces of singed bread. "Toast!" he announced happily, before catching sight of Julian and Emma.

There was a silence. Julian appeared to be struggling for words; Emma found herself backing towards the door. She had suddenly remembered the fights Mark and Julian used to have when they were children. They had been vicious and bloody in scope, and Julian had given as good as he got. In fact, sometimes he had given _before_ he got.

Mark raised his eyebrows. "Toast?"

"That's _my_ toast," Ty pointed out.

"Right." Mark crossed the room, side-eyeing Julian as he went. Julian was still wordless, and it looked like poking the teenager would cause him to fall over. "And what do you want on your toast?"

"Pudding," Ty said promptly.

"Pudding?" Julian echoed.

Finn had to admit, when he'd imagined the first word Julian was going to say out loud in this situation, it hadn't been 'pudding.'

"Why _not_ pudding?" Livvy said equably, locating a container of tapioca pudding and handing it to her twin, who began to spoon it onto the bread in measured doses.

Julian turned to Mark. "I thought you said she was locked in her room."

"I told-" Finn began, but Julian held up a hand and cut him off.

"No, I'm asking Mark. Who was _graciously_ left in charge of his siblings while you needed to step out for something _important_, Finnegan."

Finnegan, despite being half a decade older than Julian, shut his mouth, thoroughly chastised. This _was_ Julian's household, after all. He ran the place, his siblings saw him as an authority figure. Despite the urge to take the blame and start working on fixing the kitchen, he stood silently and waited for the inevitable chaos.

"She came out when you guys texted that you found Ty," Mark supplied.

"There didn't seem to be any reason _not_ to," Livvy said.

"And _why_ is the toaster in the pantry?" Julian asked.

"I couldn't find any other…" Mark seemed to be searching for words. "Electrical outlets."

"And why is Tavvy in a bag of sugar?"

"When I _specifically_ said _not_ to put Tavvy in a bag of sugar," Finnegan added.

"The children questioned if Tavvy was forbidden from a bag of flour," Fionn explained. "You did not ban flour, Finnegan. As such, I attempted to appease them."

"And one of them must've helped Tavvy get the sugar while you were distracted," Finnegan finished. "These children used the faerie logic against him with wordplay. Poor thing. You've raised monsters, Julian."

Julian sighed. "Who helped put Tavvy in the bag of sugar?"

"He _really_ wanted to be in a bag of sugar," Mark replied.

"That doesn't mean you should _put_ him in a bag of sugar." Julian's voice rose. "Or practically destroy the stove. Or let Drusilla drink - what _is_ in that glass, Dru?"

"Chocolate milk," Dru said promptly.

"And?" Finnegan pressed.

"With sour cream and Pepsi."

"Dru, when I approved chocolate milk, this was _not_ what I meant."

Julian sighed. "She shouldn't be drinking that."

"Why not?" Mark untied the apron around his waist and flung it aside. "I do not understand the source of your anger, brother. They're all alive, aren't they?"

"That's a pretty low bar," Julian said. "If I'd realized all you thought you had to do was keep them alive-"

"That's what you said," Mark said, half angry and half bewildered. "You joked about it, you and Finnegan both said they could take care of themselves-"

"They _can!_" Julian snapped. He'd risen to his full height; he seemed suddenly to tower over Mark, bigger and broader and altogether more adult than his brother. "_You're_ the one causing the chaos! You're their older brother, do you even know what that means? You're meant to take better care of them than this!"

Fionn seemed to tense at Julian's words, as though prepared to jump in front of a train for Mark's sake. "I am partially responsible-"

"No you are _not_, Fionn! Mark is a _Blackthorn_; this is his world and his home unlike it is yours - he is in charge of his siblings, and unlike you, should've known better."

"I-"

"And nothing from you, Finnegan. Mark should have been able to handle a few minutes of your absence without the entire kitchen _exploding!_"

"The kitchen did not self destruct-" Mark corrected but Livvy jumped in to try and prevent the situation from growing worse.

"Julian! It's fine," she said. "We're _fine_."

This did not quench Julian's wrath. It only seemed to make it worse. "Fine? _Fine?_ Ty sneaked out - and I'll talk to you about that later, Livia - got into Johnny Rook's house, and held his son at knifepoint; Livvy locked herself in her room, and Tavvy is possibly permanently coated in sugar. You've turned Fionn into a faerie dessert, you've disrespected Finnegan as both our guest and your superior - you should be thanking him for his generosity helping us and keeping Mark's secret - and destroyed this kitchen the moment he turned his back attempting to help in the investigation which Mark's freedom to stay here depends on! And as for Dru, we've got about five minutes until she throws up."

"I won't," Dru said, scowling.

"As the humans say, '_Famous last words_,'" Fionn muttered.

"I'll clean it," Mark said.

"You don't know how!" Julian was white-faced and furious. Emma had rarely seen him so angry. "You," he said, still looking at Mark, "you used to look after them, but I guess you've forgotten that. I guess you've forgotten how to do anything normal."

"Stop!" Fionn snapped. "_Normal_ is not something _you_ define, Julian Blackthorn! You should never have expected Miach to be everything you wished him to be; you have no right to define who Miach should be and who he is because you want him to be that way! His years within Faerie have made him more than human, more than a Shadowhunter, and more than simply your brother! He is a warrior, he is a faerie of the Wild Hunt, and he is more than just a slave to his bloodline! He is _not you!_ He is not the Mark you once knew! You will not expect of him your own ideal soul!" Fionn's eyes flashed ruby red and his hair sparked and was set ablaze like a candle. "He is his own person, and whether or not that is the person you want of him, you should love him no less or you are not his brother, you are a tyrant and a coward and _a son of a bitch and a fucking bastard who deserves to slit his own throat and die!_"

"_Fionn!_" Finnegan snapped.

He had never seen the faerie so angry. He had a feeling that some of his words were based on something personal.

"Fionn Flann," Mark said in a light voice. "Whatever Julian might be, he is not among the cruelty of your brothers."

Fionn took a moment to respond. For a moment, Finn really feared that he'd attack Julian. None of the Blackthorns seemed to know how to react.

"Stop."

It was Tiberius who had spoken. His gray eyes burned in his pale face. His hands were moving at his sides, fluttering. Moth's wings - wings that could hold a knife, could cut a throat. It was unclear whether he was talking to Julian, to Mark, to Fionn, or to the room in general, but Julian froze. Dru sat unmoving; Tavvy had climbed out of the sugar and was gazing at Julian with wide blue-green eyes.

Under the scrutiny of his entire family as well as Fionn's outburst, Finnegan felt a wave of pity for Julian Blackthorn. Perhaps he regretted his words, but Julian didn't have the time to regret. Right now, he had to focus on the safety of his family, and that meant being harsh and scolding them when they were wrong. Unfortunately, that seemed to stir something within Fionn that reminded Finnegan too much of when he had been infected with that curse from before.

"Fionn," Finnegan said. "_Fionn_."

He reached out and touched the faerie's hand, knowing what he was risking, but knowing that the pain was worth it to snap Fionn out of his rage. Fionn's skin was like a hot iron, but upon contact his fire powers snapped and flickered out like a light switch. Fionn returned to normal, the heat radiating off him cooled, and his mismatched eyes returned.

His face scrunched up in pain, his eye twitched in pain. Beneath his eye, a crack started to form, a scar crawling down his cheek as though fighting its way down. It stopped about an inch down from the center of his eye, like a lightning bolt raw and red. As he began to recompose himself, the scar healed itself, but rather than sealing normally, it darkened to a pencil-thin black line that looked like a painful poison was coursing through him.

"28…" he muttered. "I let it become 28."

"Fionn?" Finnegan asked cautiously.

He rubbed his finger across his new mark. "My apologies. It seems I am not so immune to the Scourge as we predicted."

"Are you okay?"

"No, my Hunter, I am not 'okay.' I may yet be with time." He looked up to Julian. "My apologies for the burden I have placed upon your family, but you cannot expect of Mark the ideal brother you so desire. You cannot expect anything of family. Not within this cruel world. Be not mired in hatred, for hatred shall darken your heart."

Mark was unmoving, his face pale, color striping the high cheekbones that marked out his faerie heritage. There was love in his family's eyes as they looked at Julian, and worry and fear, but Finnegan had to wonder if Julian could see any of it. If all he saw was the children he had given up so much of his life for, happy with someone else. If, like Emma, he looked at the kitchen and remembered how he had taught himself to clean it when he was twelve years old. Taught himself to cook: simple things at first, spaghetti and butter, toast and cheese. A million cheese sandwiches, a million burns on Julian's hands and wrists from the stove and the spatter. The way he'd walked down the path to the highway every few days to accept the grocery delivery, before he could drive. The way he'd dragged and carried all their food back up the hill. Julian on his knees, skinny in jeans and sweatshirt, scrubbing the floor. The kitchen had been designed by his mother, it was a piece of her, but it was also a piece of everything he'd given over the years to his family.

And he would do it again. Of course he would: He loved them that fiercely. The only thing that made Julian angry was fear, fear for his sisters and brothers. He was afraid now. Finnegan watched the look on Julian's face as he registered their resentment of him, their disappointment. The fire seemed to go out of him. He slid down the front of the stove until he was sitting on the floor.

"Jules?" It was Tavvy, white granules coating his hair. He shuffled close and put his arms around Julian's neck.

Julian made an odd sound, and then he pulled his brother in and hugged him fiercely. Sugar sifted down onto his black gear, dusting it with white powder.

The kitchen door opened with a gasp of surprise. They turned and saw Cristina gaping at the mess. "_¡Qué desastre!_"

It didn't exactly require a translation. Mark cleared his throat and began stacking dirty dishes in the sink. Not so much stacking them as flinging them, really. Livvy went over to help him white Cristina stared.

"Where's Diana?" Emma asked.

"She's home. Malcolm portaled us there and back," Cristina said, not taking her eyes off the charred pots on the stove.

'_Be wary of Malcolm_.'

Finnegan remembered Veon's warning. So far, Malcolm wasn't intent on giving away that he had ulterior motives, and for now, that meant Malcolm wasn't doing anything to directly harm them. Until Finn had some kind of plan, revealing Malcolm's motives to the Blackthorns wasn't in his best interests for many reasons. They were still kids, and Emma especially was impulsive and a terrible liar. Julian would be able to keep the secret and his poker face was more than ideal, but he already had enough on his shoulders. Until absolutely necessary, Finnegan didn't need to reveal Malcolm had something scheming. Once he knew exactly what Malcolm wanted and was doing, he would make sure to keep the information quiet.

"She said she needed to catch up on sleep," Cristina was saying.

Still holding Tavvy, Julian stood up. There was powdered sugar on his shirt, in his hair, but his face was calm, expressionless. "Sorry about the mess, Cristina."

"It's fine," she said, looking around the room. "It is not my kitchen. Though," she added hastily, "I can help you clean up."

"Mark will clean up," Julian said, without looking at his brother and before Finnegan or Fionn could offer to help. Julian dodged any protests by moving the topic elsewhere. "Did you and Diana find anything out from Malcolm?"

"He had gone to see some warlocks he thought might be able to help," Cristina said. "We talked about Caterina Loss. I've heard of her - she teaches at the Academy sometimes along with Zytaveon, Downworlder studies. Apparently both Malcolm and Diana are good friends with her, so they exchanged a lot of stories I didn't really understand."

"Well, here's what we learned from Rook," Emma offered, and she launched into the story of how they had found an address.

She left out the part where Ty had escaped and almost sliced off Kit Rook's (Johnny Rook's son) head, but no one questioned it. It wasn't really a very important detail, anyway. Finnegan added in what he'd found from his informant and revealed the suspected locations of Sterling that Veon had sent him.

"So basically, someone needs to tail Sterling," Livvy said eagerly when they were done. "Ty and I could do it."

"You can't drive," Emma pointed out. "And we need you here for research."

Livvy made a face. "So we get stuck here reading 'it was many and many a year ago' nine thousand times?"

"There's no reason we can't learn how to drive," Ty said, looking mulish. "Mark was saying, it's not like it matters that we're not sixteen, it's not as if we have to obey mundane laws anyway-"

"Did Mark say that?" Julian said quietly. "Fine. Mark can teach you how to drive."

Mark dropped a plate into the sink with a crash. "Julian-"

"What is it, Mark? Oh, right, you don't actually know how to drive either. And of course teaching someone to drive takes time, but you might not actually be here. Because there's no guarantee you're staying."

Finn could feel Fionn's tense aura beside him as Julian's fire returned. He took his faerie's hand, but Fionn assured him that he was still in control of himself.

"That's not true," Livvy said. "We've practically solved the case-"

"But Mark has a choice." Julian was looking at his older brother over his baby brother's head. His blue-green gaze was a steady fire. "Tell them, Mark. Tell them you're sure you'll choose us."

"Julian-"

Both Fionn and Finnegan began to speak but cut themselves off when they heard the other speaking.

'_Promise them_,' Julian's eyes were saying. '_Promise them you won't hurt them_.'

But Mark could say nothing.

Julian was afraid that his siblings loved Mark too much already. Julian would give up the children he loved to Mark without a murmur, if it was what they wanted - if, as Ty had said, they wanted Mark to take care of them. He would give them up because he loved them, because their happiness was his, because they were his breath and blood. But Mark was his brother too, and he loved him as well. What did you do, what _could_ you do, when what threatened the ones you loved was something else you loved just as much?

"Julian."

To everyone's surprise, it was Arthur Blackthorn, standing in the doorway. He cast a brief, uninterested look over the mess in the kitchen, before zeroing in on his nephew.

"Julian, I need to talk to you about something. Privately."

Faint worry flickered in the back of Julian's eyes. Finn had just enough time to see him nodded to his uncle before his vision swirled.

Finnegan staggered, a wave of exhaustion rolling over him. He quickly grabbed the counter before he fell over. He suddenly felt like he hadn't eaten for the whole day and had just attempted a workout. He saw spots in his eyes and felt a tremble in his muscles as though he had been overworked.

"My Hunter!"

Strong arms were supporting him in an instant. Finnegan had a feeling that Fionn had dropped everything to grab him, which Finn would worry about later.

"What's wrong?" Julian asked.

"Don't tell me you poisoned him with your chocolate milk concoction, Dru," Emma sighed.

"Selina," Finnegan remembered.

"What about her?" Livvy asked.

"Veon told me she was doing something to…'_release the Astral within_,' as he put it. She'll be fine with a few hours of rest, but the symptoms must be getting through the parabatai bond."

"Such a thing did not occur upon the loss of her status."

"Yeah, well her parabatai bond is stronger as just a regular old Nephilim rather than a…demigod? The process isn't equal both ways. I'll be fine in a few hours."

"You require rest. Our luck is favorable with Julian Blackthorn returning to assume leadership."

Emma's phone buzzed. She pulled it out to investigate. Emma was not as good as Julian when it came to hiding her reactions. Finnegan, despite being dazed, noticed a certain look on her face, confusion, contemplation, and then resolve. He knew Emma well enough so know she had probably come to some mischievous conclusion that others wouldn't approve of.

"Did someone call you?" Julian asked, glancing over at her. He was setting down Tavvy, ruffling his hair, gently pushing him towards Dru, who was looking distinctly green.

"Just Cameron," Emma dismissed.

Julian's eyes shuttered; maybe he was still worried she was going to tell Cameron about Mark. He looked pale. His expression was calm, but Finn could feel a tense misery coming off him in waves. Emma looked tempted to tell Julian about whatever she was going to do, he was her parabatai after all, and he shouldn't be left out on these things. But she couldn't tear him away from his family right now, not when things were so unstable already. Her mind rebelled against the thought in a way she couldn't bring herself to examine too closely.

"Cristina," Emma said, turning to her friend. "Can I talk to you in the hallway?"

With a worried look, Cristina followed Emma out into the corridor.

Fionn helped support Finnegan as he was hauled up by strength he didn't expect from the faerie. Sometimes Finnegan forgot that despite his appearances, Fionn was a hardened warrior who could lift things twice his own weight in the most extreme of conditions. He had admitted before that he had pushed his limits on a regular basis in order to make sure he stayed in shape. Fionn liked a struggle, and Finnegan had a feeling he was uneasy from being so domestic for so long.

"I shall escort you to your room for rest," Fionn said.

He helped Finnegan move out of the kitchen. Finnegan heard Emma asking Cristina to tail Sterling as they passed, and as they grew farther down the corridor, he managed to catch the end of their conversation.

"Don't make me regret lying for you, Emma Carstairs."

Finnegan waited until Fionn had helped set him down on his bed, shoving the duvet over so that he could properly pull it over Finnegan once he'd laid down. Emma thought she was doing the right thing by keeping Julian and Cristina out of her troublemaking, which is why she so easily did everything alone. She was a fool, but she was a fool with good intentions. Problem was, the path to hell was paved with them. Emma would run head-first into dangerous situations and get herself killed because she thought handling a problem on her own was better than giving her trouble to those around her. Emma was dangerous, but she wasn't as dangerous as she believed she was, meaning she ran into situations she couldn't handle and avoided help from those she should accept.

Finnegan dug around for his phone and unlocked it, his fatigue and headache fighting him on every front. He tapped his notifications and found two words, not from a number but from a series of zeros. _THE CONVERGENCE_. So that's what Emma's phone had told her. Finnegan had been distracted by his condition, Julian's phone had died while he had been texting Mark during their trip, Diana was asleep, Selina was already gone and out of commission. Emma was the only one awake and ready to receive the message.

"Follow her," Finnegan demanded. "She's going to do something stupid. It's the ideal time to go to the convergence - it's sunset, the convergence door will open. If she makes it before the Mantids stir she could get inside at the safest time."

"Why would she flee to the dangers of a cave we have already uncovered?"

"If someone's using the convergence, after they know their Mantid demons were attacked, it means they're trying to draw someone out. Emma needs any evidence she can get to avenge her parents' death. She needs closure so that she can sleep at night. I know what that feeling is. It's horrible, blaming yourself for losing your parents because you weren't strong enough, because you didn't know enough, because you didn't say the right things or act the way you should have. You could have never known what would happen, and yet it doesn't change the fact that you blame yourself, and that this terrible guilt won't leave the pit of your stomach, that nightmares will haunt you and tell you that it's all your fault. You have to stop her, Fionn. She's being stupid, but I know she has her reasons."

Fionn nodded. "I will bring her back, Finnegan. And for the record, I do know what it's like." He leaned down to give Finnegan a light kiss. "Will you be okay until my return?"

He nodded. "I'll manage. I just need some sleep and maybe some food. The Blackthorns are here for if I need them."

"That is the hope," Fionn admitted.

He still didn't fully trust the Blackthorns. As Finnegan was the first Shadowhunter and really the first human in general that he had truly gotten to know, he felt slightly misinformed of the nature of humans. Finnegan was cautious, he was noble, he was strong, he was loving, he was brave, he was wise, he was…well, everything about him reminded Fionn of why he loved this human. The Blackthorns…they were not Finnegan, and while they had their flaws as well as their strengths, he would hardly call them the best of the Shadowhunter world. Granted, he knew there was worse. There were far, far worse.

"I will attempt to escort her away. Should she resist?"

Finnegan waved, struggling to concentrate properly with his splitting migraine. "Don't get into any fights with her. If you _do_ manage to find something, it might not be a useless venture. If you find some_one_, be more careful. It could be this Guardian guy from the lottery, it could be the one doing all the dark rituals. If either's the case, you'll want to capture them alive, but Emma will most likely want them dead to avenge her parents, regardless of whether she remembers Mark's choice is on the line if we don't bring the perpetrator to Iarlath."

Fionn nodded. "I will do what is necessary."

Finnegan felt he should worry about Fionn's specific response, but he didn't have the energy left to protest. He closed his eyes and tried to relax his body to fall asleep. Fionn kissed his temple before departing.

It seemed that every time Finnegan fell asleep because of his connection to an Astral, his dreams continued to reveal more about his past.

* * *

**Chapter title: '_100 Bad Days_' by AJR**


	16. So Pull Me Up From Down Below

**I had this sitting and ready for a while now, but I marked it in my document that I had already posted up until this point. I dunno why I was so dumb. Literally I've been thinking about the future of this story so much that I'm tired of being in the present of it. I wanna break off from the regular story, but it does require us to get through Lady Midnight and maybe a little of Lord of Shadows, so off we go.**

**I swear I'm working on this story in the background, but I'm prioritizing the stories that are getting more attention - well, _story_, considering the fact that only one is currently on going but I want to start the sequel to the FF13 one soon enough.**

* * *

Fionn couldn't say he appreciated how his mind worked.

"_But our love it was stronger by far than the love__  
_ _Of those who were older than we- __  
_ _Of many far wiser than we-__  
_ _And neither the angels in Heaven above__  
_ _Nor the demons down under the sea__  
_ _Can ever dissever my soul from the soul__  
_ _Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;_"

He was singing Finnegan's tune, but for some reason, his mind continued to linger on that one line. The one line they'd found on that wall that the twins had translated, the one that Fionn himself could translate on his own.

"Those who were older than we…those who were older than we…those who were older than we…"

'_May Those Who Are Older grant us all good fortune._'

Who had said that? The woman with the fake name, the one at the theater place. Edgar Allan Poe's poem had been about how love had been stronger than the so-called wisdom of forebearers. Fionn couldn't say he disagreed with _Annabelle Lee_. The words held a striking resemblance to his own relationship with Finnegan. But the question was which of them resembled Annabelle Lee more? Her highborn kinsman came and shut her up in a sepulchre. That could be referring to either Fionn's people or Finnegan's, really. Shadowhunters, faeries, both believed they were so much better and older and wiser than love. Love was so fallible to them that they would destroy it if they disapproved.

Fionn sighed and flicked his fingers, summoning his Io's armor and letting it dance across his fingers before sheathing it again. He rarely did such a thing, but it was often just to keep his mind distracted. His Io required a lot of thought to use properly, and sometimes he just wanted to forget about the rest of the world. His Io could technically expand to cover his entire body with armor rather than just a bracer or a gauntlet, but Fionn couldn't manage anything more without wasting too much concentration and energy. The Io was a dangerous weapon because it could potentially suck the life out of the wearer should they overstrain its usage.

He had changed back into his regular hunting gear. He honestly felt an irrational disappointment when he removed Finnegan's clothes. Human clothes were so odd, and yet his body screamed for him to retain the human sleepwear. He craved having the constant scent of Finnegan readily at his nose; he wished he could parade around in Faerie and make it known that he belonged to someone and someone belonged to him. It twisted his stomach into a knot at the prospect which could never be fully realized.

"Hello, Fionn Flann."

Fionn tensed. He turned to find Iarlath lurking in the shadows, waiting for him. Such a dramatic entrance was something Fionn could hardly be surprised by. Mark spoke worlds of truth when he said that faeries were dramatic.

"Iarlath," Fionn greeted with a flat tone.

"How goes the investigation with the Blackthorns? You have not reported anything as of yet."

"The fey do not want updates, they want answers, and I planned to bring you the results once we had fully captured the perpetrator."

He repeated his shared sentiments with Diana. He realized he'd been spoiled by being with Finnegan and the Blackthorns for so long. He had never spent so much time away from watching fey eyes, under the scrutiny of his people. It was only thanks to Lock that he'd ever had any experience with kindness and knew that he wanted it, and then the rest of the people Lock introduced him to as well - including Hunter, now Finnegan.

"Yes, such is expected of you. However, we do desire to be informed of any…_issues_ regarding the Blackthorn boy."

"In what manner?"

"Disloyalty."

"You suspect foul play from the boy? He is bound by his word, and no matter his circumstances he will not betray his oath."

Iarlath hummed in amusement, never a good sign. "How has your brother been faring as of late?"

"Kieran should be with the Hunt at present. I would know not of his actions."

"I received a very interesting message from him recently. But that is a matter for another day. For now, I will regale with you the purpose of my visit. To be succinct, your father desires your presence at the Court."

Fionn felt his entire body tense at the idea of returning to the Court. Any reason his father had for wanting his return couldn't be a good one.

"Why would my father desire my presence after so many years of exile?"

"Your exile was self-inflicted, Fionn Flann, and your father allowed it because he knew you would not be one to die simply because you were without the protection of the Court. But now your father has need of you - or rather, he has need of Dearil, and you are the only one who can bring her to him."

Fionn's scowl grew darker. "Dearil died many years ago. What need would he have with her now?"

"There have been recent developments, as I'm sure you are aware. The Astral realm has been growing increasingly unstable, and as such the lands of Faerie reflect the dangers of an unbalanced hierarchy. Your father needs Dearil and her connection to Phoenix, as you might have been aware. You yourself have been experiencing symptoms of Phoenix's return, though your current form greatly restricts the deity's power. Dearil's return is necessary for Phoenix's true power to be restored."

"Regardless of Dearil's connections, Phoenix has been cursed with the Scourge. Under the Scourge, the victim loses their wits and any rational thought is lost. Phoenix would hardly be in any position to follow orders, and he would slaughter any who come near. I am the only one who has found immunity to the Scourge as well as a cure when already afflicted."

"Do you truly know what begets your immunity to this Scourge?"

Fionn couldn't help but take a page out of Wolf's book and rolled his eyes. "Self-restraint."

It was true that the only way that Fionn had come out of his Scourge-induced stupors was because he had pulled himself out of it - consciously or unconsciously. Beyond that, a lot of it was down to luck. So far, he'd had moments when he'd felt his rage getting the better of him, but he'd managed to hold it down through his own willpower and had found that taming the Scourge was entirely possible, even if it was painful.

The scar forming beneath his eye came to mind and seemed to tingle on his skin. He realized that technically it wasn't just his own willpower that had saved him - it had been the prospect that he'd hurt Finnegan that truly shook him. The moment that Finnegan had reached out for him, his entire body shut down with fear that he'd hurt the Shadowhunter in his rage. In the process of shutting down the Scourge so forcefully, he'd left a scar that was painful to say the least. If ever he lost it to the Scourge again, coming back would probably result in the scar's spreading. He knew that there would be a time when that scar didn't go away and sealing back the Scourge would be impossible. That's why keeping his temper was the only thing he could do now to prevent the Scourge from getting any worse.

Iarlath might have been smiling in amusement, but it was difficult for Fionn to tell because of his tree-bark-like skin. "We also require another soul, one with whom you might be acquainted. A Shadowhunter by the name of Finnegan Scion. I believe I took note of him during our meeting with the Blackthorn family."

Fionn grit his teeth, barely holding back his reaction. Luckily he had already lost his façade of indifference when Iarlath had brought up Dearil, so there wasn't much darker Fionn's expression could grow. Either way, Iarlath smiled, as the minute reaction was enough to identify Fionn's feelings on the matter.

"Why would my father want a Nephilim?"

"You know very well why. We weren't sure until the incident where Finnegan merged with your steed and gained the Astral's powers for himself while still remaining human. But there is no doubt now. That boy can control the power of the gods without being subject to the caveats that come with a status of deity. Long ago, a boy just like him was blessed with the powers of every god while retaining his humanity in order to combat the Scourge - a boy with the power to channel and fight the gods without risk of infection. He perished during the Ifrit War, the cost of his blessings. But such power could not be destroyed so easily, not when his lover was Phoenix, a deity whose true spirit is unkillable, no matter how many times his body perishes. Born of haste and greed in a time when life and death were merely inconveniences, he can preserve any being and the powers they have attained in turn. Needless to say, your father has taken an interest in this boy's resurfacing. The Astral realm is in disarray and he could either save it or destroy it."

"You want Phoenix and Finnegan? To protect the Unseelie Court? To take over the Seelie Court and rule over all of Faerie? Why don't we shoot for the stars and rule in place of the gods while they're vulnerable?"

Fionn himself was surprised by the level of sarcasm he was able to muster on his last sentence.

Iarlath frowned. "You have been influenced greatly by those humans, Fionn Flann. Don't think I do not smell the thick scent of Shadowhunter on your form."

Fionn silently cursed himself for not bathing after wearing Finnegan's clothes for so long, but he had been distracted by the scent and his inner urges had told him to preserve the scent for a little longer. Perhaps he'd wanted to pretend that for a moment he openly belonged to Finnegan and he wasn't afraid to brag about it. He couldn't have predicted he'd meet Iarlath that night - or any other faerie. He'd been in a rush to get to the convergence before the Mantid demons swarmed the location, Emma Carstairs got herself into inevitable danger, or both.

"Do not forget that your father himself requests Dearil and the Shadowhunter. You will bring them to the Court."

"And what if I don't want to give you them?"

He wasn't letting Dearil return. He sure as Hellfire wasn't letting his father go anywhere near Finnegan. He didn't care if he had to fight Iarlath, his brothers, all of the Unseelie Court, and whatever demons and legends that could be conjured up to bring them in.

Unbeknownst to Fionn, the scar on his cheek began to grow wider again and pulse with black energy. Even Iarlath took a step back from the dark aura Fionn began to radiate before he caught himself. He wasn't a fool; he knew the dangers of not only threatening an Astral but an Astral with the Scourge. He couldn't show overconfidence when he didn't have his leverage yet. But he couldn't show cowardice either, or it would appear as though he was afraid, and if the Astral knew he was afraid, it would give him free rein to terrorize Iarlath as he pleased; Phoenix would have no reason to even respect Iarlath enough to spare him. Once Fionn lost his wits to the Scourge, he wouldn't discriminate out of the kindness of his heart or even because of his honor. Iarlath had been well-informed of the Scourge's risk before he had come that evening.

"Do as you wish," Iarlath stated. "But know the longer you delay, the more desperate your father will become. You cannot say I didn't warn you of the dangers that may come when that man grows agitated. What he orders me to do will be out of my control."

Iarlath kept his voice as flat and casual as he could, hoping he didn't push Fionn further into the Scourge's madness. Iarlath had faced dangerous situations before. He could handle this. But even he knew when to give up all pretenses and simply fight for his life, even if he was likely to lose.

"You can tell my father that I said he can, as a friend of mine would say, '_go fuck himself for all I care_.'"

With that, Fionn turned away and continued down his path. The sun had long since set. The Mantid demons would be swarming by then. But he didn't care. He left Iarlath alive to send the message to his father. Otherwise, he probably would've slaughtered the man regardless of the consequences. For now, he needed to get some aggression out on some demons. Needless to say, there wouldn't be a single one left by the end of the night.

* * *

_Finn was walking into a forest. It was a dangerous forest, but he was counting on it. There were many legends that told of mystical creatures, and any who entered too deep within the forest would never again come out._

_Finn walked through the forest making himself a target._

_"Why are you here? Don't you know where you are?"_

_"I know exactly where I am. Do with me what you wish, faerie."_

_"Bold words, but are you truly prepared for what comes of being a prisoner in Faerieland?"_

_"It can't be worse than with humans. Humans are cruel beasts, as you might know. I'd rather be a prisoner here than a prisoner there."_

_The faerie with burning red eyes studied Finn up and down. "Fine then. You will be mine, human. Will you allow yourself to be bound by my will?"_

_"You don't even need to give me the choice. Then again, I'm sure that you don't need my consent."_

_"Correct."_

_He felt his hand snatched and a searing pain shot up his arm and to his chest. His skin burned with enchanted runes, causing tattoos in a foreign language to appear down his arms, legs, around his neck and head. The runes formed the shape of bindings, like a collar around his neck, a circlet around his head, and chains around his wrists and ankles. The runes faded away visibly, but he could still feel them tingling beneath the surface._

_"Follow me, human. We've not much time."_

_"Why not?"_

_"I am a terrible faerie to be bonded to, for you see, I am on the run from the faerie courts."_

_Finn followed his new faerie master without much complaint. Unlike how Finn expected him to be, his master wasn't the cruel faerie that was spoken of in human legends. He openly spoke to Finn when he asked questions, informed him of important information that he needed to know about such as dangerous locations, plants, food, customs, etc. Finn supposed it was because he was supposed to be a servant and therefore needed to be prepared and all - what was the use of a servant if he was uninformed, died, or was otherwise incapable of doing anything? He even asked Finn for his name so that he could be referred to as something other than 'human.' He wondered what his family was doing now that he was gone, but he didn't have any regrets. His family's expectations of him were just foolish, and if they were weeping over him, he said let 'em._

_His work wasn't difficult, and he was learning new things about the supernatural world that he never would've learned if he'd stayed with humans - biased, ignorant humans. Besides, being his faerie's slave also meant that he was under his faerie's protection. If any other faerie approached him, his runes hummed into existence and he was left alone. Sometimes, faeries even apologized for disturbing him. Whoever his faerie was, he had a reputation in the faerie world. Based on the fact that he was on the run, Finn assumed it wasn't a good one. All the better that he had the trust and respect of his faerie master._

_"Are all faeries like you?" Finn asked. "I assume not, but I've learned not to make any assumptions in this world."_

_The faerie nodded. "I am a unique case, you might say."_

_"How long have you been on the run?"_

_"Many years. Perhaps a decade in human terms. Time is fluid in Faerie - it fluctuates as it pleases. You may have been within Faerie a single day and yet you can be gone for years on end. I've known a case where a single day equated to seven years in the human world, or vice versa in the human world."_

_"You don't speak as highborn as a lot of other faeries, you speak very human."_

_"I've had practice. It's true that faeries cannot lie, but we can still learn new languages and slang. I can speak like a human if I've had enough practice."_

_"You're really good at it."_

_"Thank you. Just be wary of other faeries. My mark will ward off the common folk, but other times it will only attract trouble. We're on the run, remember?"_

_"Just what did you do to get in such trouble?"_

_"I've made my fair share of enemies. There are those who desire my power and status, and there are also those who simply wish to oppress me."_

_Finn followed his master across the faerie lands, unsure of where they were going. They ran into trouble on multiple occasions, but Finn's master was well protected and knew how to fight. Finn himself wasn't helpless, but against supernatural threats, he was just a human. There were moments when he wondered if he meant so much to his master that he would truly risk his life for Finn's sake. He really shouldn't risk himself for Finn, but his master admitted that it was lonely being on the run. No one could be trusted, there was no hope for his future, at least no hope for a future where he was happy._

_"This is the happiest I've ever been, actually," Finn's master admitted. "It's nice to have a companion."_

_"It's nice being in your company as well. Life's a lot simpler here, nicer."_

_"Is humanity truly so grueling? I've met humans during my travels, but never have I learned what it is to be one."_

_"It's very complex. You are born a certain way, taught certain things, and any deviation is seen as treachery. Humans are prejudice and hypocritical and racist and sexist. Here, in Faerie, women and men are treated with the same respect. Sure, humans are weaker than you, different, but you have your respect for them at times. Everyone's got different opinions, but in the end, things are at least straightforward here. No one can lie, though you _can_ deceive. I just like it more than those who can flat out lie."_

_"We can lie with our actions, our tone, our wording. I've learned that humans can have different meanings depending on the vowels emphasized and _how_ they are emphasized. Verbal irony is a language in itself; though it sounds like English, it is more of a dialect."_

_"And so you've learned to speak this dialect. So long as a faerie knows that what they _mean_ to say is correct, they can speak truthfully. So if you were learning a new language and someone misinformed you of the translations, you could potentially lie without lying. Interesting."_

_"I sometimes envy you humans for being able to lie. At other times, I feel grateful that I can be truthful to myself and others. What happens if you are unsure of the truth within yourself?"_

_Finn thought about it. "I guess we _can_ lie to ourselves, can't we? I never really thought about it, but yeah. Sometimes we have to lie to ourselves in order to deny that which we cannot comprehend or accept. I tried lying to myself to survive in humanity. It was only when I accepted the truth that I was brave enough to do what I desired."_

_"Coming to Faerie?"_

_"Yes. And I don't regret it. I fear I might, and yet I was willing to take the chance."_

_His master chuckled. "I don't regret binding you, Finn. I do not know where I would be without you. Solitude is a dangerous thing. I might have lost my sanity long ago had we never met."_

_"I may have as well. I hope we are together for many years longer."_

_"I as well."_

_Finn died to something as simple as a push. Falling was not something that scared him before. Granted he'd never fallen from a cliff before. The highest he'd ever fallen was down the stairs of his home, and even then he'd found the pain and disorientation fun. He'd felt like he'd survived a harrowing experience, despite how mundane it was compared to his current situation._

_"You will return to the Court and face judgment, Farkael."_

_"Release him!"_

_"Fine."_

_And that was the conversation that got Finn thrown off a cliff with barely a moment to question what was happening._

_The next thing he knew, he was waking in someone's arms. His faerie master was holding him up as he laid on the cliff as though he'd never fallen. It couldn't have just been a bad dream, not with the horrified look on the faerie's face._

_"You're alive," the red-eyed faerie sighed with relief._

_"I…am."_

_They were surrounded by the ashes of their enemies, who had instantly been turned to dust. His faerie had brought him back to life. He didn't know how. He didn't know at what cost._

_"I have the power of the god Phoenix," Farkael explained. "My father wished to hold me to do his bidding. I complied during my early years, but I refused to comply any longer. And so I left, though not with any blessing on my father's part. Now, the Courts hunt me for my power in order to convince me to do their bidding."_

_"You're stronger than them though. You can do whatever you please."_

_"I hate this power. I abhor it with my every being. Yet I cannot deny its usefulness. I…I had to use it to save you. There was no other way. Phoenix is powerful enough to destroy his enemies with nothing but a thought. He can revive the dead or give them new life in the form of rebirth from the ashes of defeat."_

_"You…you brought me back. You used a power you hate for me…?"_

_He nodded reluctantly._

_"Why me? I'm just a human."_

_"I have told you before, you are more than that! You are important to me. You are…" He stroked his soft fingers across Finn's face. "You are everything to me."_

_He leaned down gently as though asking for permission and Finn let his close the distance. Finn felt like his entire body was on fire, he felt his runes on his body flaring up as though reacting to the faerie's contact and their shared emotion. It was said that magic was connected to emotion, so he was unsurprised that his feelings that were overwhelming him were transferring to the magic that already bound the two of them._

_"My apologies. I…you…I have tried to stop myself from loving you, human, but you are…too important to lose."_

_Finn smiled. "I'm not complaining. Not at all."_

_Traveling together didn't change much. Finn started to realize just how close the two of them already were. Finn was now allowed to call his master Farkael, though it was awkward for both of them._

_"I'm used to calling you 'Master.' Now that our relationship has changed a bit, I guess that's a little more awkward."_

_"I'm not fond of the name. Farkael is what I was called by the family that shunned me and loved me only for my power. I…I began to go by the title of 'Fionn' instead when I went rogue."_

_"Why Fionn?"_

_"It simply means 'fair-haired.'"_

_Finn smiled. "So basically you started calling yourself blondie?"_

_Farkael laughed. "Yes, I suppose so."_

_'_**_Do you know how their tale ended?_**_'_

_"Huh?"_

_"What is it?" Kael asked._

_"I thought I heard someone speaking."_

_'_**_Do you want to know? I will show you._**_'_

_The scene shifted as the two of them stood on a beach fighting off what seemed like a storm itself._

_"Come now, Phoenix, fight like you mean it!"_

_The deity within the heart of the living storm glared down at them, the waves swirling at her command. Her face seemed familiar somehow._

_"_**_Selina?_**_"_

_"What does she want from you?!" Finn screamed over the torrent._

_"I don't know!" Kael admitted. "Nothing good! Nothing good ever comes out of this curse! Nothing!"_

_The water goddess frowned. "You are a fool, Phoenix. If you desire to die so, then I shall grant you your wish!"_

_She raised her arms and threw the storm forward, the water freezing into deadly spikes of ice. Kael raised his arms and conjured a barrier of fire to block, but the ice and water, especially when the fight was taking place at the sea, was overwhelming. Some of the ice was blocked, some of it wasn't._

_"Kael…Farkael!"_

_Finn struggled to the faerie's position in the sand, dragging his body forward despite being pierced multiple times._

_"I'm sorry…"_

_"No, no don't be sorry. I don't regret a moment of it."_

_The water deity growled. "You stupid bird. You can't even die properly!"_

_Kael chuckled, though it was pained. "I can die in love, Seline. Maybe that makes me a fool, but I've never feared death." He turned his eyes to Finn. "I will see you again, love. Every time until this curse wears off."_

_"Curse?"_

_"Never you mind. A Phoenix will always rise from the ashes, stronger than before."_

_A torrent of ice rained down, aimed at Kael alone. "Damn you, you imposter!"_

_Kael frowned. "Don't call me an imposter, Seline…"_

_Finn dived over Kael's body, knowing shielding him would be useless but he didn't want to live alone. He knew he wouldn't survive if he was left alone._

_"…when I've already won."_

_The ice shards came down, piercing through both of them. Finn felt his runes burning away as the pain grew numbing and he felt the energy from his body leaving - probably blood loss. Then, he felt the moment when his runes snapped off, sending a shockwave through the air. He heard Seline's screams of anguish and saw Kael smirking beneath him before the rest of his life drained away from him_.

Finnegan snapped awake, gasping in a deep breath. His lungs and chest felt like they had been pierced by the ice that had killed him in his dream. Another dream about Phoenix and himself. How many were there? How many times were he and Phoenix reborn? And how many times had they died together? Something about a curse…

And then there was Seline. He needed to have a talk with her when next they met.

He sighed. It was nighttime. He didn't know how long he'd been out, but it seemed to have been a while. Fionn wasn't back; he knew the faerie would be at his side instantly and would simply be staring at him from the desk chair or even just from the door. Fionn still had his faerie quirks, one of which being that he wasn't afraid to look like a stalker by watching someone sleep for their own protection.

He wondered if Cristina was back from tailing Sterling. They still had a couple days until the hunt for the guy truly began, and despite only being a half-werewolf or whatever he'd called himself, it meant he still had speed greater than a Shadowhunter. The time of his kill would be the most important - that was their best chance at finding the Guardian.

Finn climbed out of bed and stretched. If he was up and running again, that likely meant that Selina was up and running again too. He wondered if she'd come to the Institute the next morning. For now, Finn couldn't sleep, so he headed down to the kitchen for something to eat. He needed something to do.

At first glance, the kitchen seemed deserted, only a single light on. Dishes were piled in the sink, and though someone had clearly scrubbed the walls and counters, there was still food crusted onto the stove, and two large trash bags, stuffed full and half-spilling their contents, propped against the wall. Finn nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed Mark. For a moment, he had thought he was only a shadow and the movement had been a trick of the light, but he finally spotted Mark sitting on the floor, his legs crossed. Tavvy was asleep beside him - on him, really, his head resting in the crook of Mark's arm, his small legs and arms curled up like a potato bug's. Mark's T-shirt and jeans were covered with powdered sugar. He was carefully stroking Tavvy's hair.

"Hey, Mark," Finn muttered. "Don't mind me. Just seeing if there's any food that hasn't been thrown on some surface of the kitchen."

"I give my apologies once more for the needless waste of sustenance," Mark said. The dark room seemed to force them to keep their voices low, as though they feared speaking too loudly would bring down the very sky. "I only hoped to appease the children."

"It's fine, Mark. Julian's the one who's most upset. I should have my own apologies for not making it clear that keeping the children alive was not the only goal. I was gone longer than I thought I'd be, and Fionn was likely no help."

Mark chuckled. "He believes in disciplining his brother, but otherwise he knows very little of interacting with the little ones."

Finn managed to find some half-broken granola bars and decided he'd make do. He procured a bowl just in case so he could catch the crumbs since it was one of those crumbly granolas. Finn went to sit at the table where he could still see Mark. He began eating in silence, but if what Finn had learned anything about faeries from Fionn it was that they weren't afraid of the menace known as awkward silence. Brave folk they were.

Finn eventually laid his head on the table, feeling his exhaustion returning from the darkened room. He heard someone enter the room, but he decided to let Mark handle it and just sleep so that he wouldn't end up uber tired the next day because he was up all night.

"Cristina?"

Finn heard shuffling as Cristina came closer and set her scarf on the table. "Has Emma returned yet?"

"I don't know," Mark said. "But if she has, she's probably gone to sleep."

Cristina sighed. Perhaps she had wanted to ask Emma where she had gone or tell her what Cristina herself had found on her outing.

"Could you - if you don't mind - get me a glass of water?" Mark asked. He looked down half-apologetically at the boy in his lap. "I don't want to wake him."

"Of course." Cristina went to the sink, filled a glass, and returned, sitting down cross-legged opposite Mark. He took the glass with a grateful expression. "I'm sure Julian isn't that angry with you."

Mark made an inelegant noise, finishing the water and setting the glass down.

"You could pick up Tavvy," Cristina suggested. "You could carry him to bed. If you want him to sleep."

"I like him here," Mark said, looking down at his own long, pale fingers tangled in the little boy's brown curls. "He just - they all left, and he fell asleep on me." He sounded amazed, wondering.

"Of course he did," Cristina said. "He's your brother. He trusts you."

"Nobody trusts a Hunter."

"You are not a Hunter in this house. You are a Blackthorn."

"I wish Julian agreed with you. I thought I was keeping the children happy. I thought that's what Julian would have wanted."

Tavvy shifted in Mark's arms and Mark moved too, so that the edge of his boot was touching the tip of Cristina's. She felt the contact like a small shock.

"You have to understand," she said. "Julian does everything for these children. _Everything_. I have never seen a brother who is so much like a parent. He cannot only tell them yes, he has to tell them no. He must deal in discipline and punishment and denial. Whereas you, you can give them anything. You can have fun with them."

"Julian can have fun with them," Mark said a little sulkily.

"He can't. He is envious because he loves them but he cannot be their brother. He must be their father. In his mind, they dread him and adore you."

"Julian's jealous?" Mark looked astonished. "Of me?"

"I think so."

Cristina met his eyes. At some point, in knowing him, the mismatch between his blue and his golden one had stopped seeming strange to her. The same way it had stopped seeming strange to be in the Blackthorns' kitchen, speaking English, instead of at home, where things were warm and familiar.

"Be kind to him. He has a gentle soul. He is terrified you will leave and break the hearts of all these children he loves so very much."

Mark looked down at Tavvy. "I don't know what I will do," he admitted. "I did not realize how it would tear at my heart to be back among them. It was thinking of them, of my family, that helped me live through the first years I was in the Hunt. Every day we would ride, and steal from the dead. It was cold, a cold life. And at night I would lie down and conjure their faces to lull me to sleep. They were all I had until-"

He broke off. Tavvy sat up, scrubbing his small hands through his tangled hair. "Jules?" he yawned.

"No," his brother said quietly. "It's Mark."

"Oh, right." Tavvy gave him a blink-eyed smile. "Think I crashed from all the sugar."

"Well, you were inside a bag of it," Mark said. "That could have an effect on anyone."

Tavvy got to his feet and stretched, a full little-boy stretch with his arms outraised. Mark watched him, a look of wistfulness in his eyes. Cristina wondered if he was thinking about all the years and milestones he'd missed in Tavvy's life. Of all his siblings, his youngest one had changed the most.

"Bed," Tavvy said, and wandered out of the kitchen, pausing at the door to say, "Night Cristina!" shyly before scampering off.

Cristina turned back to Mark. He was still sitting with his back against the refrigerator. He looked exhausted, not just physically, but as if his soul were tired. She could get up and go to bed, Cristina thought. She probably should. There was no reason for her to stay here and sit on the floor with a boy she barely knew, who would most likely disappear out of her life in months, and who was probably in love with someone else. Which, she thought, might be exactly what drew her to him. She knew what it was like to leave something you loved behind.

"Until?" she prompted.

Mark's eyelids lifted slowly, showing her the banked fire in gold and blue eyes. "What?"

"You said your family, the memory of your family, was all you had until something. Until Kieran?"

"Yes," Mark said.

"Was he the only one who was kind to you?"

"In the Hunt? There is not kindness in the Hunt. There is respect, and a sort of camaraderie of brothers. They feared Kieran, of course. Kieran is genty, a Prince of Faerie. His father, the King, gave him to the Hunt as a sign of goodwill to Gwyn, but he also demanded his good treatment. Fionn I am unsure of. He trained with and worked with Gwyn long before he officially joined with the Hunt alongside Kieran. If he was also to be treated well, he did not act the part. Their good treatment was extended to me, but even before Kieran, they came slowly to respect me." His shoulders hunched. "It was worse when we attended the revels. Faeries from all over would come to those, and they did not appreciate a Shadowhunter's attendance. They would do their best to draw me aside, to taunt and torment me."

"Did no one intervene?"

Mark laughed shortly. "The ways of Faerie are brutal. Even for the greatest among them. The Queen of the Seelie Court can be deprived of her powers if her crown is stolen. Even Gwyn, who leads the Wild Hunt, must yield authority to any who steals his cloak. You cannot imagine they would show mercy to a half-Shadowhunter boy. Fionn was the only one who might have come close to intervention. He would not show his care on the outside, but I knew those who attempted to harass me would ultimately face his wrath with time. I never saw the same perpetrator twice after Fionn entered my life, but he would not directly intervene. He knew that would be only cruelty."

"How would it be cruel to aid you in times of need?"

"In Faerie there are the weak and the strong, and the weak serve the strong. If Fionn and Kieran were to aid me in all my times of need, I would come across as unable to handle my own problems, dependant on their aid. He knew I did not need such a reputation in a world that already disapproves of me."

"He wished for you to prove yourself to those of Faerie who didn't believe in you."

"Those who believed I was an arrogant Shadowhunter who believed I had control over them," Mark corrected. "Faeries are older creatures than Shadowhunters, and yet Shadowhunters have formed their Clave and their Accords and their Cold Peace as though they are a higher power showing mercy to the Downworld. No. Shadowhunters are very arrogant creatures. Should they _truly_ face the darkest of dangers within Faerie, it would be a bloodbath and none would remain standing. Faeries are the merciful creatures for not unleashing the true horrors they potential might summon to this world. And they are also just as arrogant. If you do not know, you will learn with time, Cristina. I am born of two arrogant races, and I am choosing between which is slightly less intolerable."

"You're not choosing between faerie and Shadowhunter," Cristina corrected. "You are choosing between that which you care for in either world. Kieran, the Hunt, freedom, or your home, your family. There are dangers and prejudices on both sides, but you must choose which is a greater cause to fight for. I do not know what it was like in Faerie for you, but from my perspective, it sounds as though the society there treats you harsher than here. But perhaps I know nothing."

"The people of Faerie and that of the Nephilim are both equally cruel. The only difference is that the Fair Folk do not hide behind pretenses. They display their dislike of me freely and do not hide behind lies and rules and façades. They even had a rhyme they would mock me with."

"A rhyme?" Cristina held up her hand. "Nevermind, you do not need to tell it to me, not if you don't wish to."

"I no longer care," Mark said. "It was an old bit of doggerel. '_First the flame and then the flood, in the end it's Blackthorn blood_.'"

Cristina sat up straight. "What?"

"They claimed it meant Blackthorn blood was destructive, like flood or fire. That whoever made up the rhyme was saying Blackthorns were bad luck. Not that it matters. It's just a bit of nonsense."

"That isn't nonsense," Cristina exclaimed. "It means something. The words written on the bodies…" She frowned in concentration. "They are the same."

"What do you mean?"

"Fire to water. It is the same - they are simply different translations. When English is not your first language, you understand the sense of the words differently. Believe me, 'Fire to water' and 'First the flame and then the flood,' they could be the same thing."

"But what does that mean?"

"I'm not sure." Cristina pushed her hands into her hair in frustration. "Please, promise me you'll mention it to Emma and Jules as soon as you can. I could be wrong, but…"

Mark looked baffled. "Yes, of course-"

"Promise."

"Tomorrow, I promise." His smile was bemused. "It occurs to me that you know a great deal about me, Cristina, and I know very little about you. I know your name, Mendoza Rosales. I know you left something behind in Mexico. What was it?"

"Not a something. Some_one_."

"Perfect Diego?"

"And his brother Jaime." She waved away Mark's raised eyebrow. "One of them I was in love with, and the other was my best friend. They both broke my heart." She was almost astonished to hear the words come out of her mouth.

"For your heart twice broken, I am sorry," Mark said. "But is it wrong that I am glad that it brought you into my life? If you had not been here when I arrived - I do not know that I could have borne it. When I first saw Julian, I thought he was my father. I did not know my brother so grown. I left them children, and now they are no longer that. When I knew what I had lost, even with Emma, those years of their lives…you are the only one I have not lost something with, but rather gained a new friendship."

"Well, there's always Finn and his parabatai."

"Ah, but they are family of Fionn, you see, and his family is Kieran's, and Kieran's family is mine. You are the only one I might have friendship with, Cristina Rosales. You are not a Blackthorn, you are not family, and so you may yet be my only friend."

"Friendship," Cristina mused.

He extended his hand, and she looked at him, bemused.

"It is traditional, among the fey, for a declaration of friendship to be accompanied by a clasp of hands."

She put her hand in his. His fingers closed around her own; they were rough where they were calloused, but lithe and strong. And not cool, as she had imagined they would be, but warm. She tried to hold back the shiver that threatened to spread up her arm, realizing how long it had been since she had held someone's hand like this.

"Cristina," he mused.

He spoke her name for no other reason than to hear it, because to both of them her name sounded like music when he spoke it.

Neither of them noticed the movement at the window, the flash of a pale face looking in, or the sound of an acorn being viciously crushed between narrow fingers.

* * *

Fionn finished off the last of the Mantids and didn't feel any better. If anything, he felt worse. He felt like his skin was truly burning - and he couldn't feel the effects of extreme heat, so that was an odd sensation. But there was also a cruel coolness to the heat which stung him to the core, as though the painful flame was consuming his soul itself.

He remembered the reason that he had even come to fight the Mantid demons in the first place and his ruby eyes moved to the open cave entrance that he had been neglecting.

_Emma Carstairs_.

The brat, Fionn remembered. The idiot who deserved to die for her rash and conceited methods. She was presumptuous, annoying, a brash teenager who didn't seem to know the meaning of logic or rules, and Fionn knew that practically everything she did caused trouble for herself and others who cared about her. He rushed into the cave, his glowing aura lighting the way as he chased after wherever the Carstairs girl had gone. He remembered the way down to the chamber from his previous visit, and this time he spelled an odd mixture of sulfur and burned sugar. There was someone with a ritual down here, Fionn remembered.

He charged down into the room and passed through a glamour circle but he didn't initially see where the Carstairs girl was. There was no way Fionn could've changed the outcome of what happened, as Emma had already pulled down the lever out of curiosity before she even noticed him charging into the room. For a moment, nothing happened. Fionn's eyes locked into Emma's, and her own locked onto his.

Then both of the porthole doors swung wide open.

An unearthly howl tore through the room. Emma turned and stared in horror. The second porthole was wide open and glowing bright blue - a door to the ocean. A great, deep universe of water opened on the other side of the door, of whipping seaweed and surging currents and the dark, shadowy shapes of things much bigger than fish. The stench of saltwater was everywhere, which was painful enough to Fionn when he was normal, but when his senses were heightened thanks to his berserk state it was a downright painful scent that seemed to pierce through his skull.

_Flood_.

Fionn didn't understand why he thought that word, but he felt as though he was being burnt alive as he was lifted off his feet and dragged towards the ocean as if being sucked down a drain. He had begun to scream in pain before he was hauled through the doorway and the water closed over his head.

He continued to scream underwater, but it became less of a battle cry of pain than a wail of agony. He screamed until he had no more breath in his lungs and then some. He wasn't sure how he kept going, but he seemed to be screaming out his very soul in a desperate attempt to be heard. The pain was overwhelming, but it was the fear that got to him mostly. He wasn't sure how deep down he was, he couldn't tell which way was up, attempting to open his eyelids resulted in the burning of his eyes even worse than the pain from the Scourge.

Fionn did not know how to swim.

It was truly pitiful, but there was never a pool of water that he could properly heat up that was big enough for him to ever learn. In Faerie, there was only the sea or the blood rivers. Swimming had never seemed like an issue to him when he avoided water like the plague and if ever he _did_ fall into water, his muscles seemed paralyzed from the shock anyway. Never was he able to learn what swimming was like. He could barely tolerate watching _others_ swimming. The only exception had been wading in warm waters made by his mother. She said she was going to teach him to swim one day, whether he liked it or not. He had vehemently denied the notion, but his mother would always push the matter and he knew he'd be giving in one way or another. She never got the chance. He missed her.

The demons made his concentration stabilize, at least. An enemy was something he could deal with, despite unfavorable situations. They were below him, like nightmares rising: lumpy, slippery creatures. Waving tentacles crowned with jagged teeth flailed towards him. His magic was weak even above water, but below it, there was no chance of fire at all. He summoned the rest of his power into his Io and it formed from his skin, a blade which he used to sever the spiked limb reaching for his arm. His Io's whip-like form would be useless underwater, and so a short blade was his best option, and probably the only thing he had the energy to form. Black blood exploded into the water, billowing up in clouds.

Fionn was vaguely aware of Emma Carstairs a short distance away who was holding on using a rune for breathing underwater and her seraph blade. Fionn himself was already dying on the outside from the pain of the waters, and so he barely could differentiate between the burning in his lungs from the burning of the rest of him. A scarlet, snakelike thing shot towards Emma through the water. She kicked out, collided with something fleshy and soft. She gagged on revulsion and stabbed downwards; more blood spilled. The sea around them was turning to charcoal.

"**_Finnegan. Kieran. Zoltan. Anyone!_**"

His words didn't escape his mouth. He wasn't sure who he was expecting to return his unvoiced cries. He just wanted someone by his side, someone to appear and save him by some miracle. He always thought that he wouldn't do something as foolish as thinking about his loved ones when he was sure to die. He felt that it was a sign of giving up, and that he'd be fighting and resisting to his last breath, not distracting himself with his loved ones. Now he just wanted Finnegan to be by his side to make the pain fade just slightly.

"**_Need some help?_**"

Fionn felt something grab onto him and swung his weapon, believing it was a demon, but he swung only at water. The sea began to shimmer with the light of the moon above, lighting all the way down to the demons. The water flashed and Fionn could hear the demon's cries even through the dimming liquid. Fionn was dragged upwards, and he could see the moon lighting his way, a blurred pearl on the surface of the water.

Fionn recalled a certain conversation that he'd had with Wolf and Pyre, one that involved swimming in the ocean. There is great pressure in the depths of the ocean, the lower down the greater the weight of water upon you. If you are to resurface too quickly, your very blood could boil. Something about Mercury, something about a funny word - bends. Fionn wondered if that was going to happen to him with the speed that he was rising to the surface. Then again, he already felt like he was dying. Never before had he been so deep under the water, so helpless, so afraid.

His vision went black before his head broke the surface.

* * *

Finnegan had a weird dream.

Not like his other weird dreams about falling in love and dying, no. This was a regular weird dream. If there _was_ such a thing.

He saw a bunch of faces. He saw Mark, he saw Kieran, he saw Fionn, and he saw that tree guy - Iarlath. He saw a man that appeared to be half-goat or something and many faeries that must have been his children. He saw a woman who spoke with a warrior faerie with a worried face before her eyes turned and locked onto Finn. Then, the scene dissolved into his mother talking with his uncle Samuel. He could barely make out the sound of their voices. He caught the words, "Merida," "Phoenix," and "Finnegan."

Finn found himself underwater, panicking, able to breathe but still struggling to move. He found an indescribable feeling, wanting Fionn by his side more than ever so that the pain was lessened. Just having him there would make things better.

Suddenly he was floating in the water out of his own body. He saw Fionn floating beside him, thrashing from pain from being underwater. He struck out against a demon attempting to grab him, filling the water with black ichor.

"_Fionn!_"

Finnegan tried to swim over to him, but he couldn't make any progress. Fionn was slowing down, losing his energy.

"_FIONN!_"

"**_Don't worry, Finn. I've got this._**"

Finn snapped awake and realized he was still lying at the kitchen table at the LA Institute. He pulled out his phone to check the time and realized he'd gotten a ton of emails about the Frisco Institute that he needed to resolve. He got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach from his dream, wondering if Fionn was back with Emma yet. He went out to the front and found Diana pulling up in the Institute car. Just from her expression through the window and the way she violently parked the car, Finn could tell she wasn't in a good mood.

"Are Emma and Julian back?" Diana demanded.

"Uh…I don't know," Finn admitted. "I just woke up."

She sighed and stomped into the Institute. Finn followed, helping ask if any of the others had seen Julian and Emma yet. They checked all the hiding spots the two could possibly be exploiting, and once they'd determined the pair weren't in the Institute, Diana went outside to the car.

"I didn't see them at the convergence when I went and found the car," Diana said. "They're either still in there or they left the car for some reason."

"I can go check for them," Finn volunteered. "I also sent Fionn out to look for Emma before she got into trouble. Julian must've gone after her when he learned where she'd gone. I was incapacitated, Diana. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Finnegan. But I _do_ want them found as soon as possible. I'll wait here for if they return."

Finn changed into his proper hunting clothes and strapped his violin onto his back along with a couple seraph blades and knives. He headed out, seeing Diana perch on the hood of the car like a hawk and scanning everything in sight while she waited for signs of Emma, Julian, or Fionn on the horizon.

Fionn took Zoltan out to the convergence. He'd asked where Zoltan had last seen Fionn and he'd said the convergence. The steed was stubborn, but Finnegan could sense the worry and concern he had for Fionn. Zoltan led Finnegan to the convergence, but he bypassed the cave entrance completely and continued walking. Finnegan barely noticed; he was too distracted by the demonic remains scattered about and still searing away in the sun. Someone had slaughtered the Mantid demons, someone had piled the corpses to the point that the sun had yet to burn the remains away yet and the ashes weren't instantly dissolving, as though even the dust was still reeling and in pain from whatever had done this damage.

Finnegan let Zoltan trot down to the beach. He noticed that Zoltan wasn't leaving hoof-prints. He hadn't known if that had always been the case or if the Astral was purposefully avoiding leaving a trail because they were walking into something dangerous. Finn felt comfortable on Zoltan's back, and though he was still getting flashbacks from their odd connection from before, Zoltan didn't bring up the incident.

"Hey, Zoltan…?"

Finn couldn't find the right words to ask, but thanks to Zoltan's mental connection, communicating with him never required words, and it was actually better when words couldn't summarize what needed to be said since Zoltan could understand better. His language was a language without any clear words, and Finn could appreciate it sometimes when words became difficult. Whenever Zoltan answered, he never spoke in words, but Finn still interpreted his answer properly just from the feelings that Zoltan portrayed.

'**_You may connect with any Astral you have a strong enough connection with. I enacted our former connection, and so you should be cautious of Astrals connecting to you forcefully. You will learn to sense Astrals all around you and connect to their power on small-scale or large-scale connections - the latter being like the connection between you and I. However, you must be careful. Taking control of Astrals will gain you notoriety as a dangerous force._**'

'**_Can you teach me how to access these powers?_**'

'**_You must learn on your own, Finnegan. I was not supposed to intervene when I did before, but I could not let Phoenix be captured._**'

'**_You really care about him, despite all your taunting and teasing._**'

'**_You are all at risk now that your powers are known to the Astral realm. We must take greater caution. Of course, Laura is eager to be at your side as a fellow Musician. However, she is unable to interfere until certain conditions are met. None of us should be interfering with your lives, but I have never been one to follow the rules._****'**

'**_I worry about you, Zoltan. I'm sure Fionn does too._**'

'**_I have been looking after that child since she attempted to kill herself. I've long since grown numb to the feeling of worry for him._**'

'**_Kill herself?_**' Finnegan wondered if Zoltan had had a slip of the proverbial tongue.

'**_Who is that?_**' Finnegan looked up and saw someone walking down the beach. '**_I will hide us. Do not make any noise or sudden movements. It is a warlock. He is adept at seeing through glamours, but I can manage a strong enough one temporarily so long as we do not draw attention to ourselves._**'

Finn did as he was told, wishing he had drawn a rune to increase his sight so he could see the figure better. Zoltan seemed to feel his thoughts, because a small jolt was sent through his leg and a rune shimmered into existence beneath his clothes, sparking gray with electricity. It was a basic Farsighted rune, but he was grateful for it. His vision zoomed in so he could properly see his target, and his eyes widened when he realized who it was.

'**_Malcolm Fade_****.**'

'**_What was he investigating?_**' Zoltan wondered.

They stayed silent as Malcolm retreated up the beach and finally out of sight. Even after he was gone, Finn and Zoltan had a silent agreement to remain still a moment longer just in case.

'**_Zoltan, please tell me you know something about Malcolm. His motives, what he's doing, anything._**'

'**_I'm not omnipotent, child. I sense passion from him; love that would drive a man to madness. And darkness that men have no right to interfere with and yet they constantly do so._**'

'**_Fionn,_**' Finnegan thought. '**_We need to find him._**'

They hurried forward, and Finnegan was slightly glad that Zoltan was able to hide his hoofprints. They made their way down the beach, but instead of some horrific scene or even just a passed out Fionn, they found Julian Blackthorn and Emma Carstairs. They appeared to have slept together on the beach, and Finnegan averted his gaze. He had a lingering thought that Fionn would hardly react since the fey didn't care about naked forms.

'**_A cloak in my bag,_**' Zoltan advised.

Finnegan was quick to comply, pulling out the cloak from a bag that really shouldn't have been able to hold such a large object (probably something magic) and threw it over the pair. Their clothes were nearby, soaked in seawater and chilled from being out in the open for so long. Finnegan once again thought about Fionn and how he could probably dry their clothes in an instant.

Julian, ever the cautious Blackthorn that he was, stirred upon the unfamiliar feeling of the fabric above him, and forced himself awake when he realized he was neither lying in a bed nor even inside a building. He rolled over, taking in the situation with panicked eyes. Finnegan allowed him to get dressed, leaving the cloak on Emma as she continued to sleep in the sand. Julian's entire demeanor was defensive. His body was tense, he refused to meet Finnegan's eye, and his pensive expression made Finnegan assume he was dredging up every terrible scenario his imagination could muster.

"Finnegan, I know that I've asked a lot of you during our collaboration, but…"

"I won't tell anyone," Finnegan assured him. "Look, you both have your flaws, but I know that you're good people. You're dealing with so much already with Mark's situation and these killings. But…you need to work this out."

"I know," Julian said, and his entire being seemed to convulse in pain.

Finnegan truly pitied Julian Blackthorn. He had to raise his family all on his own, four younger siblings and his unstable uncle. He'd had to deal with the loss of his older brother and sister because of their fey heritage, he had to cope with the loss of his parents - even having to kill an Endarkened Andrew Blackthorn with his own hands. And now he had fallen in love with his parabatai - the person that he was closest too with a bond like no other. It was really a surprise that more parabatai didn't fall in love considering how intimate the bond could be, but then again, Finnegan had made his bond with Selina and he'd never developed romantic feelings for her. It wasn't because he was strictly gay either; he liked women, he'd just never found any one of them that he could imagine dating, much less marrying. He was beginning to think he was asexual at one point, but no, he just had high standards. Perhaps it was the forbidden-ness of loving someone that wasn't a Shadowhunter that made him fall for Fionn. Either way, his bond with Selina had been born from the fact that they'd been together probably since they'd been infants. Speaking of Selina, he needed to check up on her after her Astral transformation.

"Don't…don't hurt yourself or Emma, Julian," Finnegan advised. "Love is a complicated thing, and in fighting or accepting it, you'll only hurt yourself if you push too hard for or against it. I'll do everything in my power to keep you all safe, okay? That includes this secret. But you should talk to Emma about it. You know how stubborn she is when she wants something. Based on everything I've seen with you two, I think you both want each other, and the forbidden factor makes it even worse. Trust me, I know that loving someone forbidden makes things a little more intense."

Julian opened his mouth to speak, but he continued to open and close it, sucking in a breath before stopping his words from flowing free. He looked like he had a million things on his mind in that moment. His head and his heart refused to cooperate, as it so often was.

"Have you seen Fionn around?" Finnegan asked, both changing the subject to show mercy on Julian and providing a segue from his previous sentence about who he loved.

"No," Julian said. His formal tone returned, the air of an older man within a teenager's body. He was clearly relieved by the excuse to move away from the topic of his forbidden love-life. "I came here when the parabatai bond connected me to Emma as she was drowning. I was guided into the water and just…found her. I didn't see any sign of Fionn."

Finnegan sighed and turned to Zoltan, who came over without missing a beat. "I'll keep searching for him. You talk with Emma when you can and head back to the Institute. Let's just say Diana found out that Emma went to the convergence alone. Please try and knock some sense into your parabatai, Julian. For all of our sakes."

Julian managed a small snicker. "Trust me, I gave her a bit of a lecture last night before…ya know." The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "I know how stubborn she can be; I'm just as frustrated at times."

"**_And yet you love her for it,_**" Finnegan finished, though not aloud since he knew it would ruin Julian's mood.

While Finn himself wasn't Emma's biggest fan, he could understand why Julian loved everything about her. They'd been together through many things, and Finnegan assumed that their parabatai ceremony had just been a way to keep them together after their parents had died and Emma was threatened to be taken away to another Institute. Being parabatai _did_ assure that the Clave would keep them together. If it weren't forbidden to fall in love with your parabatai, Finn might have thought that being parabatai was pretty much the equivalent of having a soulmate, a bond stronger than a simple wedding could possibly express, a love that was stronger than anything a natural relationship could produce.

Finnegan mounted Zoltan, the muscle memory setting in as he learned to mount the saddle-less steed and command him without reins. "I'll meet you guys at the Institute when I've found Fionn."

He turned Zoltan away and continued down the beach, asking Zoltan if he could track Fionn.

"Finnegan," Julian called.

He turned his head back towards the Shadowhunter. "Hm?"

"You rode in on your horse, no?"

"I did."

Julian was staring at the sand. The tide was low, seaweed lying exposed at the waterline. Any footsteps from the night before had long been washed away, but there were other footsteps embedded in the sand. It looked as if someone had climbed over one of the rock walls, walked up to them, and then doubled back and walked away. They definitely weren't Finnegan's because the footprints were disconnected from the steps that were clearly Finn's, and since he rode in on his horse who left no trail…

Julian's face went pale at the sight.

"Some mundane, I hope," Julian muttered. "Just some mundane who thought we were a pair of dumb teenagers."

Zoltan continued walking without pause before Finn could remember that Malcolm was the one Finn had seen retreating from the pair's current location. Malcolm. The one who had been interfering with their investigation and who might even be this Guardian in the lottery.

'**_We do not have sufficient information on Malcolm and his motives,_**' Zoltan warned Finnegan. '**_Until we do, it seems that Malcolm has chosen to leave the couple alone. We will hope that he keeps it that way. For now, we need to find Phoenix. Malcolm's interference may yet be worse than we've imagined, but until I have conclusive evidence, I don't want him to know that we're investigating him._**'

'**_We?_**'

'**_The Astral community dedicated to Phoenix's protection and ascension. Malcolm has been a suspect for interfering with our work for a while now, but we must take caution with him. We suspect him working with the Unseelie King in order to steal Phoenix's power._**'

Finnegan sighed. "Wonderful."

* * *

**Chapter title: '_Head Above Water_' by Avril Lavigne**

**A beautiful song, I recommend if you like a nice sad but inspiring song**


	17. Like a House of Cards

**This turned into more of an expositional chapter where I start explaining things. I've been living in the future of this story where I branch off into my own plotline that I've been planning for forever and a half, so uh, at least know that I've got an actual story in the works? Yay?**

**Chapter naming is hard. Honestly, one of the biggest reasons I procrastinate uploading chapters is one: it takes some time to edit these things, and two: because chapter naming takes like a half hour.**

**I might have the next chapter up real soon just because this one is so information-heavy. The next one is sad though. One of my most hated parts of the book - not because of anyone getting hurt ****(although people do get hurt)****, but because the characters act so stupid. This is one of those moments when I read a book and think 'All of you are being idiots for the sake of the plot, aren't you?'**

* * *

"Wake up."

Fionn felt like he couldn't breathe. His body wanted to breathe. He told it to breathe. But it couldn't breathe. He wasn't in pain, he just couldn't move.

"For the Draconian's sake, Phoenix, get _up!_"

He felt a hard punch into his back and finally his lungs started working again. His body kicked into overdrive and he was suddenly jolted into action. He pushed up against the hard surface he was laying on and tried to discern his location. Body wasn't broken, lungs were recovering, mind seemed stable. It was dark. Eyes were adjusting.

"Finally. Honestly, Phoenix, you're so lazy sometimes."

The figure speaking had a gentle, silky voice, one that reverberated through the air smooth as the crashing waves - there were undertones of chaos and destruction, but in the end it was as soothing as white noise. Long white hair framed a lithe body, shimmering afterimages of Shadowhunter Marks sparkled under the moonlight.

"Seline?"

She scoffed, flicking her hair back behind her shoulder. "Duh. I'm probably the only Hydrean who'd ever save your sorry ass."

Fionn rolled his eyes and recalled something that Wolf had snapped at Pyre when she'd violently woken him. "Lark-a-doodle-do to you too, bitch."

"Oh, so sassy, aren't we? How long have I been _gone?_ Where's that modest little faerie boy that I'd come to like, even be _fond_ of? Or are you finally Phoenix now, eh?"

"I am not Phoenix," he insisted. He was glad the words were able to escape his mouth, meaning that it was the truth. For now.

"I can see that." She reached out and ran her hand along his jaw, her thumb brushing his cheek. "You lost it again, didn't you?"

"The Scourge?"

She waved her hand and an ice mirror appeared in her hand. She held it up so that Fionn could see himself. His Scourge scar had lengthened to about two inches now, double what it had been before. Now, it was thicker at the top near his eye and the rest of it was branching out like the roots of a tree into smaller sections jutting out. The extra bits were still small and faint, but one or two of them were just as thick as his old scar had been. There was no dismissing this scar; the Scourge was clear as day on his face.

"What happened?" Seline asked.

Fionn thought back, trying to recall what had happened before he'd lost control. He closed his mismatched eyes, his hand touching his temple. "I was chasing Emma Carstairs, attempting to prevent her from harming herself. I approached the location of the convergence, and then…someone came out of the shadows, someone I dread to remember." Fionn's eyes snapped open. "Iarlath. Iarlath visited me."

"What did he want?"

Fionn went over the encounter, more and more details returning to him as he spoke. Selina's frown grew darker and darker, as though the shadows of the moon swept across her face. While her hair shimmered from the moon slipping into the cave they were hidden in, her face fell into shadows.

"We can't let that happen," she grumbled, her voice still smooth, but the dangers of the ocean seemed to rumble in the very core of her voice. "We can't let anyone get their hands on Finnegan. Iarlath was right. Finnegan was born with the powers to channel and harness the abilities of Astrals he comes into contact with. Once, in another life, he was able to tame Astrals against their will. I doubt he could do such a thing right now, but he could if properly trained, if he had enough incentive. If he was forced to his limits."

"Why does my father want Phoenix, Seline?"

"You should know by now why your father wants Phoenix."

"Enlighten me so that I might confirm my suspicions."

Seline sighed and leaned back against the wall. "What do you know so far about the Ifrit War?"

"Ifrit was the Infernian of the Hexatheon before he went mad by a curse known as the Scourge. The witches who bequeathed him the curse desired the destruction of the Astral realm and to become Astrals themselves. Somehow, the war ended. I was involved, Finnegan was involved. We both died and were reborn."

"You are Phoenix, third in line to the Infernian throne. The second in line is your sister Brynhildr. I've tried to get into contact with her multiple times, but she's keeping on the down-low, hiding herself away in the Unseelie Court. This is very important, so listen to me. Ifrit once blessed the Unseelie King with the power of the Infernians, and as such he was able to make his lands flourish for countless centuries. The Seelie Queen, in turn, was gifted the blessings of the Glacian of ice. The two forces were meant to keep balance within Faerie. But ever since the Ifrit War and Ifrit's demise, the blessings of the Infernian have worn off. You may think fire is simple, but it is a complex force required for life itself, just as much as any other force. The Unseelie King's rule itself is at risk, along with the balance in Faerie. And so he needs an heir to take over the Hexetheon's missing position who will also renew the Unseelie King's Infernian blessing."

"So Brynhildr should ascend."

"She can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Ask her yourself. Either way, she's been preparing you to take over the throne as soon as possible. Problem was, your death was a complicated one, and your rebirth even more complicated. Because of the Infernian blessing on the Unseelie Court, Brynhildr was able to bargain with the king for protection. In return, once you ascend, you'd renew the vows to the Unseelie King by the Infernian. Normally, a reborn Astral needs around two decades to regain their memories. A lot of Astrals like to be born as humans so that they can experience life anew and don't get bored - myself included. But upon your twenty-first birthday, your memories hadn't even shown any indications of emerging. Normally, you'd be going through a lot of changes growing up, developing powers stronger than your peers and slowly regaining your memories."

"Brynhildr raised me wrong if her intention was for me to grow into the powers of Phoenix."

"Admittedly things were a bit different. Normally you're supposed to go on a trip around the world discovering your history and your people, but for your own protection Brynhildr locked you within the Unseelie Tower and insisted that all measures possible be taken to ensure that your existence was hidden. You see, after the Ifrit War, the Astral realm suspected that _all_ Infernians were infected. Nothing like the Scourge had ever happened before, you see, and nothing could've prepared us for what happens if someone of the Hexatheon themselves was infected. As such, all Infernians are being ostracized right now, and anyone who came into contact with Ifrit - aka the ones who defeated him-"

"-are suspected of harboring the Scourge."

"Rebirth when it comes to you, Phoenix, is very unique. We don't know to what extent your rebirth brought you back. We can't say if the Scourge came back with you. But it didn't. At least, it hadn't back when Brynhildr was keeping such a diligent eye on you. Back during the war, Phoenix had found a cure to the Scourge. Pair that with Finnegan who was human and therefore immune to the Scourge but who had the ability to channel the powers of the gods and they were able to stop Ifrit before it was too late. And that's another reason you have to be the one to ascend in Ifrit's place - you're immune to the Scourge somehow and therefore you're the safest leader we have."

"But I am not immune."

"You've pulled yourself back multiple times now, Phoenix. That's more than anyone else has ever managed. All of us have watched loved ones lose their wits and never come back. During the height of the Scourge, you couldn't tell the difference between an eccentric personality or insanity. Scourge victims would fight to the death, they wouldn't stop, no matter if they were outmatched or injured beyond repair. It was terrifying, Phoenix. You don't realize what's happening to you until it's too late, and then when you _do_ realize it, there's no going back no matter how hard you try to snap reason back into yourself. Your body and mind become separated, and then eventually your mind is slowly worn away until you might as well be a zombie - a living corpse whose only goal is to kill."

"You sound very experienced with the Scourge's symptoms."

"I'm terrified of the Scourge, Phoenix." She pulled her legs up to hug her knees. "There are those who fully accept the Scourge rather than resisting it. They retain their wits and plan out their destructive course, they aim for the cruelest of psychological and physical pain to their victims. The kindest people I knew, turned into psychopaths. You don't know how the infection spreads, you don't know who could be infected without even knowing it. Not until its too late. This was war, Phoenix. A war that we were losing. Even _I_…" She couldn't finish.

"You were infected?" Fionn guessed.

She nodded. "It happened gradually. My friends got captured by one of the Scourge victims. They were tortured in the most unspeakable ways. Back then, I didn't believe in the Scourge. None of us really knew what it was, but we kept quiet about most encounters. My sister was taken - Lunarian sister, I mean - and…what happened to her was cruel. When we finally rescued her, we'd had to kill the man who took her, I think it was a bear-shifter, an Ursidaen. The feral look in his eyes…it was horrific. When he knew he'd been caught, all pretenses were thrown out the window and he attacked. It was so unnatural. Then, I took my sister home so she could recover. We went to a human village surrounded by people, because she had been alone for so long that the psychological torture had nearly broken her. She managed to tell me about some of her experiences. Once, she had attempted to refuse him something and so he had simply locked her in a box. It was dark and quiet and alone and terrifying. She couldn't move, she couldn't see, she couldn't hear, she could only feel herself and the cramped space she was trapped within. She couldn't use her powers without the light of the moon, she was captured and disconnected from the rest of us, and that alone was enough to feel like her very existence was in pain. It went on like that for days on end before she finally gave up and screamed for help, begging to be freed. After that, she didn't fight that often, but she was hurt and made to do terrible things. I thought it was just the memories that made her feel unhinged, and while it was a contributing factor, it wasn't the whole thing."

"During her captivity she was infected?"

Seline nodded. "She went insane slowly, but then, after a week of shutting herself in the basement without any moonlight, she burnt down the entire human village in the night. I had known this girl for centuries. She was sweet and gentle and kind and innocent, but the look in her eyes was positively terrifying. It haunted me for days after I managed to stop her. She fought with unwavering strength even as I disabled her. In the end, I tried removing all her limbs and still, she nearly killed me. It's like she didn't know the meaning of pain anymore, or she just didn't care. Her power was beyond measure as well. She was more hostile than I'd ever seen. After I stopped her, I knew there was a high chance that I myself had been afflicted, and I knew I should stay away from other Astrals for their protection. I tried to kill myself a couple times, but I always stopped myself. The Scourge is like a parasite. Once it's taken control, it knows that it needs to survive."

"How long ago was this?"

"Many years ago, Phoenix. I was fully aware of my condition, so perhaps that delayed the insanity. Unlike my sister, it took many, many centuries for the Scourge to fully settle in. Even once it had, I was considered one of the higher-up cases who retained my wits. I barely noticed the malicious bug within me after a while, and most of my friends just interpreted it as me being as bitchy as I normally was. In the end, I probably spread the Scourge without even knowing it. And I hurt you, Phoenix. I hurt you many, many times. I was angry at you for a while, sure, but that was normal banter. This…this was pure destruction and ill intent."

"And yet here you are, reborn aware of yourself."

"We were both reborn without the Scourge until you were afflicted yourself. Maybe I'm afflicted once more but I just can't tell. But I was reborn with the Scourge already removed, which means that we can't _truly_ tell if rebirth negates the Scourge's effects. No one knows if you got afflicted with the Scourge before you died when you defeated Ifrit. No one but you, Finn, and maybe Brynhildr and her husband could possibly know what happened in that final battle."

"You had the Scourge removed?"

She nodded. "Finnegan and you. Together you found a way. Despite how bad I was to you, Scourge or not, you didn't give up on me, Phoenix. That's…that's why I changed my mind about you. At least for a little while. Mostly it was Finnegan. I owe him more than I can ever express. It's why I followed him into this life, and…even why I was willing to look at you from a new perspective."

"Thank you, Seline."

She turned away her head. "Yeah, well don't mention it. I'm still getting myself in big trouble for you. Any Hydrean in the area knows that you fell into the water. The only reason I made it there first was because Finn had a bad dream which transferred to me. The parabatai bond is still in place, regardless of whether I'm human or Astral, and it appears that you and Finn have your special connection in some way or another. Since Finn's Astral powers are developing more, it's going to make him a bigger target. Not just the Unseelie King will want him. The Astral world will either want to use him or make sure that he can use no one else."

"Do they fear him?"

"Who wouldn't? Finnegan may have been a hero of the Ifrit War, but beyond the war's purpose, Finnegan is a weapon to fight the Scourge. Anything else that's beneath him could potentially be at risk. He fought and defeated Ifrit, a mere human who could harness the power of the whole Hexatheon at will. A soul blessed by the entire Hexatheon for the purposes of winning that war? That kind of blessing doesn't just go away with time."

Fionn let his thoughts swirl around in his brain, but eventually he spoke his fear. "Will this burden forever be upon him? No matter how many times he is reborn, he will always bear this burden?"

Seline sighed. "I guess so. What's happened to him transcends anything that any of us have ever comprehended before. This goes beyond simple humanity, unfortunately. I couldn't say if there's a way to sever him from this fate, Fionn. I'm sorry."

Fionn exhaled and rose to his feet, taking a deep breath of the salty air that made him want to gag. "Tell me, Seline. What would it take for me to become Phoenix and fight the Scourge?"

"It takes a lot of spiritual magic power, for one thing, something that you lack in abundance. Your entire body reeks of magic dampeners, Fionn. What in the gods' names did you do? Look, I know we haven't had the best relationship in this life or our former ones, but if you're blocking your powers, I need to know. Phoenix is essential to restoring the balance of the entire Astral world, and if you're doing anything to impede our efforts, a lot of people - Astral and mortal alike - are going to suffer until you get your act together. Our rebellion is putting everything on the line for you, so just tell me if you've done something, Fionn. Please."

"You threaten and plead in an odd way, Lady Seline. But I will tell you what I know."

"What you know?" she repeated.

"Multiple times my memories have been stolen away. I can only tell you what I have gathered from trustworthy - and untrustworthy - sources."

"I'm all ears."

Fionn sighed. "Long ago, there was a girl named Dearil…"

-**_TTOT_**-

Finnegan allowed Zoltan to hurry down the beach, launching himself up and over rocks with agility and grace no normal horse could ever manage. Finally, Finnegan felt Zoltan's excitement as he locked onto something. He hurried across a dangerous cliff face where the waves crashed against the land and created a treacherous reef. Finnegan would've trusted no other horse to recklessly jump from small rocky platform to platform - let alone with Finnegan's life on the life as well. Since the tide was low, a lot of the reef's platforms were exposed, but even so, this place was very well hidden.

Zoltan finally jumped into a hidden cave that could only be exposed with the low tide and Finnegan felt him celebrating his victory.

"Zoltan?"

As Finn slid off the horse and at the familiar voice his entire heart leaped. "Fionn!"

He practically tackled the faerie into a hug. He hadn't realized how worried he'd been until his relief washed over him like a tidal wave. Fionn's normal honey and campfire scent was heavily obscured by the smell of the sea. He felt a comforting squeeze from Fionn to show that he was indeed alive, awake, and being embraced at the moment.

"My Hunter, I apologize for worrying you so."

"It doesn't matter. I'm just glad you're okay."

He could almost feel Fionn's smile as he ran his hands through Finnegan's hair to console him, breathing in the Shadowhunter's scent. Finnegan lowered his head so that it fit into the crook of the faerie's neck and he simply rested there for a moment. He always felt like he could just fall asleep like that, resting his guard when he was protected by Fionn.

"Ahem," someone cleared their throat. "Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but we've got some important information to discuss."

Finnegan reluctantly pulled away, his muscles screaming for him to stay just a few moments longer. He looked deeper into the cave and saw the luminescent hair of his familiar parabatai. He realized that ever since he'd woken up that morning, he'd felt a wholeness in his chest that had been gone for a while, ever since Selina had lost her Astral half. It might have been a few days, it might have been a literal eternity.

"Seels!"

He moved to embrace her in a hug. It was different from hugging Fionn, cooler and soothing, while Fionn's embrace was more warm and comforting. Either way, Finnegan knew that he needed both of these people in his life more than anything else.

"We'll finish our reunion later," Selina declared. "Right now, I have some important information that I need to share with you."

-**_TTOT_**-

"And that's it," Selina finished. "I think that's all I got on my end. Then again, I've only been awake for so long."

"So Diana's aware of Malcolm?" Finnegan repeated.

"She has her sources," Selina shrugged. "In any case, I've talked to her about our suspicions as well. She said to wait and gather us all together so that we could form a plan of attack. But the children _cannot_ know about it. She agrees that Emma and Julian alike wouldn't act rationally if they learned the warlock they're so fond of is our perpetrator, let alone the younger ones who adore Malcolm to the core. We'd sooner make the Blackthorns our enemies and have them flocking to Malcolm's defense, leaving them wide open to attack. And Malcolm's too dangerous to face head-on without a plan. I'd love to say that being an Astral gives us an advantage over a warlock, but I can't say that truthfully. Malcolm is dealing with _very_ dark things, things like witches and curses and forbidden black magic. Perhaps even the Scourge itself. Until we know the limits of his knowledge and power, we shouldn't make a move too hastily."

"I understand. I just worry that leaving the little ones vulnerable is a bad idea. What if one of them goes off with Malcolm or Julian trusts the little ones with Malcolm and he easily takes them hostage?"

"We'll have to be there to keep an eye on all of them. That's all we really _can_ do. In any case, what about your end?"

Finnegan launched into the dream he had about another version of Phoenix and an Astral who could have been no one but Seline that killed them.

"Farkael, you say? Hm…I do remember that…vaguely," Selina admitted.

"You killed us, Selina. Please tell me that wasn't you."

"It wasn't me…technically." Selina went into her story about how she'd been afflicted with the Scourge long ago. "During my madness, I suppose my anger at Phoenix translated to rage at his lovers as well. But ever since you saved me in your past life, I've owed my life to you, Finn. I'd never hurt you, at least not intentionally."

"You called him 'imposter.' Does that ring a bell?"

"Imposter…" Selina's eyes darkened. "Yes. Yes, I remember that."

"What did you mean?"

She sighed. "Look, it's something involving Phoenix's past that's hard to explain. It's really something that _he_ should be telling you, not me. There was once a time I might've told you, Finn, but it wouldn't have been for a good reason. I'm not sure what to believe about the rumors surrounding Phoenix's past, but if you want someone who doesn't have such a filter, ask Falorios. Just know that he won't keep quiet to spare your feelings, and considering his grudge against Phoenix is even worse and older than my own, don't expect his interpretation to be pretty - even if he _is_ a part of the Phoenix Resistance. We call it 'PR' to disguise it."

"Cute. Why would he even be a part of this resistance if he hates Phoenix so much?"

"Because he may be a whiny bitch, but he's not an idiot. Phoenix needs to restore balance, there's no other way."

Finn sighed. "Rios was tailing Sterling, right?"

"Yeah. So far, all he's learned is that the man has a gun and Cristina nearly got herself shot trying to follow him. Mundanes and their guns, honestly. The Astral realm has had trouble with firearms before. We've had to increase our durability and speed to match those things, but they can still shed ichor."

"Shadowhunters don't use guns, but we know their dangers," Finn admitted.

"Rios has taken over the tailing of Sterling for now, keeping to the shadows. Rios could probably block a gunshot, but he wouldn't be happy about it. The closest thing he has to defense is the number of moths he can produce to make a solid wall of chitin, but he hates to sacrifice his little dudes for the sake of a fight. He's over-dramatic in many ways. The guy will start pulling a Yorick if he accidentally steps on one of his little moths."

Finnegan smiled. "He's not a bad guy, not really, is he?"

She shook her head. "I've known Rios for a couple centuries since we sorta bonded over hating Phoenix for a while there."

"Ooo, Veon's romantic rival."

She shoved him. "Ha, ha. Rios is gay as they come."

"Really?"

"He'll deny it, but he _so_ is."

"He was a woman once, wasn't he?" Finnegan recalled.

She nodded. "It really isn't our business to pry - plus Astrals can often tell when mortals are thinking about us - but there's no force in this solar system that could get Rios to fall in love with anything of the female sex. In the case of Astrals who are pretty genderfluid or non-binary, I'm guessing that's why Rios has suffered in the romance department."

"That and his prissy attitude."

"Right. Honestly, most of us don't see gender or sex as a barrier when it comes to love, so Rios is a bit of an oddball in that regard."

"What else is new?"

"Well, we also don't see the race of creatures as a barrier either. For example, Zoltan over there is a…what was the word for it Zolt?"

"_Fulgo-Archae-Infernian_," Zoltan said, and Finnegan was startled by the fact that Zoltan's voice came out clear as day rather than simple mind-waves.

Fionn looked just as startled, staring at his steed wide-eyed. "What?"

"Lightning, earth, and fire, all in one horsy combination," Selina explained. "He's primarily a Fulgarian, secondly an Archaeon, and thirdly an Infernian. That Infernian blood puts him in the category of an Infernian to be ostracized, but…well, Zoltan never really had any friends in the first place. Now, despite his attitude and his power, no other Astral dares challenge him. You're lucky to have him on your side."

The horse snorted. "_Well my kind _is_ on the line here._"

Fionn's nose scrunched in disgust. "Stop speaking. It is out of character."

The horse blew a snort into Fionn's face. He blew a wave of fire at the horse in turn. Both shook off their mild inconveniences and Finnegan just smiled at the level of camaraderie between them.

"Anyway, we should head back to the Institute and catch up with the others," Finnegan sighed. "I'm too tired for this."

"You slept eighteen hours last night, Finn," Selina berated.

"No I didn't!"

"Yes you did. I was watching, Astral-style. Which reminds me, there was a conversation between Cristina and Mark last night that I was watching through your half-conscious state. There was something about that poem or whatever - flame to flood. I'll let them explain. But beyond that, I swear that I saw someone watching you guys from outside the window, and-"

A large bolt of lightning struck right outside the cave, shaking the earth and sending a heavy metallic tang into the air. Zoltan whinnied and bucked in a frantic motion. Though he wasn't speaking English anymore, the message was clear: '_RUN!_'

Selina threw her arms up and pulled the tides to rise high above the entrance to the cave, leaving an invisible barrier up across the entrance so that the water didn't flood in. "Dammit, who is it _this_ time?!"

"How are we gonna get out?!" Finnegan shouted.

"Go down the cave! Zoltan, show them the way!"

"What threat do we face?" Fionn demanded.

"A storm Astral; Fulgo-Hydreans! Control over wind, clouds, rain, thunder, ice, hurricanes, the sea itself! Looks like it's not a very strong one, but if we go out there I'm at a disadvantage since it's daytime! Zoltan can get you a path to the Institute underground with his Archaeon power."

The horse snorted in displeasure, but trotted further down into the cave. With each stomp of his hooves the cave opened deeper down and he motioned for the rest of them to follow. Selina was the last one down the cave, holding up the waters until Zoltan closed the path behind them. Selina held up her hand and summoned a small orb of moonlight. It was hard to tell if her hair was illuminated with moonlight as well or if it was simply very reflective and absorbant of moonlight, like those glowy star things that mundanes sold to stick to the ceilings of childrens' rooms.

Fionn's hair shimmered like lava in the darkness, but that's when Finnegan noticed something else. The scar beneath his eye had expanded, and in the darkness it pulsed with a heavy dark black aura like a blacklight used on Halloween. Had they been in regular circumstances, Finnegan might have thought it looked attractive since it was so out of place for a faerie to have some kind of tattoo. Of course, in their life, there was no such thing as regular circumstances - regular _mundane_ circumstances, that is. It was the sign of his Scourge spreading, perhaps the result of being trapped underwater.

"I hope you're okay," Finnegan muttered in the darkness. The rumbling of the cave as Zoltan expanded it in front of them and closed it behind them made sure that his voice didn't echo in the chamber. "Tell me if anything's wrong, all right?"

Fionn nodded. "I am at my best with you by my side, my Hunter."

He clasped Finnegan's hand and the Shadowhunter tried to push the rising heat in his face down. "I'm serious. I don't want you hiding this Scourge from me, all right? I'd like to be informed if you're in pain."

"I am honest, Finnegan. Do you not recall? You are the reason I retained my wits during my moment of weakness. So long as you are by my side, the Scourge poses no threat. I believe that perhaps you are the cure to the Scourge as well as its vaccine."

Finnegan made a face. "That and nearly drowning you. What would've happened if Selina hadn't been there? I would've been the one to send you to your…"

"The past remains behind us, Finnegan. Do not dwell on the past in such a way or you will drive yourself to madness."

Finnegan sighed. "So casual about going to your death."

"I risk my life every moment of my existence. Perhaps I have simply adjusted to the concept that my life is forfeit."

Finnegan tugged his pointed ear. "You'd best get to _breaking_ that habit, mister."

Fionn slapped his hand away. "I will give my effort."

"_Full_ effort," Finnegan corrected. "Say it."

Fionn leaned down and captured Finnegan's lips in a kiss. He tasted faintly of seawater, which was unnatural on the faerie. "Will nothing bypass your attentive nature? Perhaps I have taught you more than I intended."

"Don't think I missed your evasion," Finnegan muttered, licking his lips to resist the temptation to kiss him again.

"I cannot promise what I cannot foresee," Fionn pointed out.

"For my sake, at least _try_ to be less of a self-sacrificing idiot? I don't need the guilt on my shoulders if you end up dying for my sake. Remember the Simon incident?"

"It was my choice to fight the Hunt and accept my punishment, Finnegan."

"And Mark's."

"I have faced worse in the Unseelie Court. Believe me when I say Gwyn's Hunt is a mercy by comparison to my father's ire."

"Speaking of which, we should probably inform him of Iarlath's little visit that transformed you in the first place," Selina called.

"Iarlath visited you?" Finnegan asked.

Fionn wanted to hold his tongue, but it was impossible to maneuver around anything when Finnegan wanted to get his way. Fionn had a moment of annoyance that he'd become so soft that Finnegan could get anything out of him. He was a ruthless faerie, a dangerous hunter, a cunning deceptor. He knew that he would sometimes have to be willing to hurt Finnegan's feelings for the sake of his duties and sometimes for Finnegan's sake. He'd done so before and Finnegan knew the faerie's nature well enough when he agreed to fall in love with him. But surely now there was no point in sparing his feelings when Iarlath's threat had been directed at Finnegan as well.

Fionn explained his encounter with Iarlath, leaving out the part surrounding Dearil and only saying that the Unseelie King required the two of them in order to gain control of Phoenix and Finnegan's power. Fionn himself was still powerful when it came to Phoenix's power, so Fionn could hardly imagine what Dearil could do with the power without the burdens placed upon Fionn to hinder her.

"So what will Iarlath be willing to do to get your cooperation?" Finnegan dared to ask.

"Kieran," Fionn guessed. "He won't directly harm Kieran, not if it means agitating me into Scourge Phoenix. He's cunning, he's loyal, but he isn't a fool. He knows that if he threatens me in the wrong way I will be long from complying and simply not care. Scourge Phoenix does not care about anyone; he would probably sacrifice Kieran, you, and everyone else in favor of chaos and revenge."

"Weren't you the one that said I was the key to bringing you back when you transformed?"

"You prevent me from falling too far. If I do manage to fall to Scourge Phoenix, I can't say whether I could pull myself back once he's taken over. The memory is hazy, but I remember the terrible, all-consuming drive to destroy, and to destroy in the most horrific ways imaginable. Psychological torture is amusing for me to inflict upon my enemies _before_ the Scourge. Even so, I have my restraints. Scourge Phoenix has none."

"Fionn, I'll always believe in you. You'll pull yourself back, all right? For now, we should really worry about what Iarlath has planned for Kieran."

"Kieran is still a child," Fionn sighed. "He is naïve, innocent, and easily influenced. Despite his life within the Hunt and my best efforts to teach him, he was still born a prince. He has been spoiled all his life - my own contribution is not to be dismissed. I fear should Iarlath inflict upon him a cruel sentence, my brother will be easily deceived. I have trained him in the ways of caution, but Iarlath is far older and wiser. With Mark in such a delicate state, threatening to leave Kieran for the Blackthorn family, perhaps even for the Cristina girl…"

"Is there any way to get into contact with him?"

Fionn put his hands to his temples. "I can make my best attempts. Kieran…I have tried to keep him happy, but there is so little to value in this miserable world. I have found happiness, he is on the verge of losing his. To preserve his relationship with Miach…the ways of Faerie are far different than the human world, Finnegan. Mark has promised his heart to Kieran, and if Mark were to betray such a thing, Kieran's wrath would be unwavering. Unlike humans, when we promise fidelity, there is no changing one's mind. Kieran has known from the very beginning what it meant to fall in love with a half-breed, a human who can lie and holds no binding oaths of kinship as the fey do. And yet…"

"Yet he still fell in love anyway," Finnegan finished gently. "Because true love is not a choice your mind can make; it is your heart that does the thinking, even if that thinking is irrational."

Zoltan whinnied up ahead before stomping a hoof and opening up a path to daylight. Finnegan had to wait a moment for his eyes to readjust. Fionn dug around the bag at his hip and pulled out a small piece of paper and a small crystal which he stuck to his left index finger. He ran his finger across the paper and the crystal shimmered before leaving a trail of ink. Finnegan looked over his shoulder as the faerie wrote from right to left in a script Finnegan didn't recognize.

"A fey language?" he guessed.

Fionn nodded. "My brother and I have grown bored on multiple occasions. Inventing a coded language was an ideal use of our time."

Finnegan let Fionn finish. Once the faerie returned his crystal to his bag, he then pulled out a large pink flower with long petals. He rolled up the paper with his message and stuck it within the petals of the flower, summoning a small wave of magic to cause the flower petals to close up. He knelt down into the grass and set the flower into the dirt, causing it to root itself with some magic. As though hitting the reverse button on a recording, the flower closed in on itself and then shrank into the ground to disappear.

"I have sent a warning to Kieran of Iarlath's intentions," Fionn announced. "We can only hope it is enough for him to avoid anything foolish. His health is not my concern. It is his actions that would warrant punishment - punishment that I must allow or must take in his place."

"I'll tell Rios to send some eyes to watch over Kieran just in case," Selina announced. "For now, let's get to the Institute. That storm is gone, but I don't think it came alone. In a sanctuary surrounded by the power of Raziel, some of the Astrals should be warded off."

They hurried back to the Institute - which wasn't far thanks to Zoltan's tunnel. Zoltan took off the moment they were out of danger, as he certainly wasn't going to be confined by the restraints of an actual building.

Diana said that Julian and Emma had returned and she'd sent them to their rooms to shower off the sand from their beach experience. Finn was sure that Diana hadn't been told about their relationship, but she was still angry at Emma for going to the convergence on her own when they'd gotten an alert. Selina and Diana caught each other up on the suspicious activity of Malcolm while Finnegan and Fionn went to Finn's room to clean up.

It was hours before Emma and Julian finished up - though they were probably getting some rest after their eventful night. Finnegan took it as an opportunity to relax himself after coming to terms with the threat of the Astral world, Iarlath, and everyone else who had it out for him or his loved ones. Finnegan insisted that Fionn change so that his clothes could be washed because the smell of the sea on Fionn was just too out of place for them both to handle. Fionn himself heated up a bath for himself so that he could rid himself of the salty smell before donning more of Finnegan's sleepwear (he felt this was going to become an addiction for him and really didn't care). Fionn washed his clothes by hand - untrusting of any machine to handle his garb - while Finnegan played his violin and tested out its ability to produce the sound of multiple instruments at a time. He played entire songs with just the one enchanted instrument, and Fionn enjoyed hearing Finnegan's voice weaving magic while he worked.

Fionn felt a moment of sadness when he realized that he couldn't have this kind of life all the time. He could now understand why Mark would be tempted to stay here with his family as a human. Life in the Hunt was exhilarating, Fionn prided himself on the strength and skill needed to endure such a lifestyle comfortably, but perhaps it was the constant state of unrest that made this peace so appealing. He enjoyed being able to stay with Finnegan freely throughout this household, being able to be with him more than a few hours at most per meeting. He enjoyed being able to wear his clothes and traverse the city with him learning about mundane food and annoying him when he got the chance because they were so close that there was no amount of banter that could tear them apart.

"Something wrong?" Finnegan asked.

Fionn shook his head. "There is much trepidation to be had with our current situation. These moments between beginning and end, before decisions must be made and deadlines must be met, this calm before the storm…I am filled with peace and anxiety alike."

Finnegan set his instrument down and walked over to Fionn, who was finishing washing his hunter garb and drying it with his fire powers. It was taking longer than Fionn would've liked since he was still exhausted from his ordeal underwater. Despite that, the slow pace was relaxing. At the very least his slightly-weakened state wasn't disabling him during a key life-endangering moment. Then again, he enjoyed a challenge. Fatigue and adrenaline were some of his favorite feelings.

Finnegan wrapped his arms around Fionn and rested his head on the faerie's shoulder. "It'll be fine, Fionn."

"You cannot know that. You cannot foresee such a thing."

"The thing about us humans is that believing can shape our entire reality. Belief is the key to making the future you want happen. If I have hope that everything will work out and that I'll be able to handle anything, come what may, I'm going to fight harder than ever to make sure my hopes turn into a reality. That's all we really _can_ do in a world like this where there are no guarantees. Don't speak of all the terrible things that could go wrong or else you might subconsciously enact such a fate."

Fionn sighed. "You speak wisdom, Finnegan."

"You faeries are so nihilistic at times. Just because a positive outlook is impractical doesn't mean that it's not worth pursuing. Keep your chin up, all right?"

Fionn inhaled a deep breath. "I will try to relax," he promised.

Finnegan turned Fionn around and kissed him. "I'll be here to help with that."

Fionn smiled. "I know, Finnegan. I will forever be grateful to you. Your presence shall never cease to warm my heart." He pulled Finnegan's hand to his chest. "You might never know the effect you have on my heart, Finnegan."

Finnegan couldn't tell if he loved or hated the way Fionn was so blunt about his feelings. The only reason he _wouldn't_ like it is because it made him blush every time. Stupid being human and easily blushing at a faerie's bluntness. He decided the embarrassment was worth it as Fionn sealed their lips together and his thoughts of bashfulness flew out of his mind.

* * *

"It's probably a summoning spell," Selina muttered. "The question is, summoning _what?_ The kind of sacrifices that have been made suggest Necromian involvement, dark magic with a lot of death and great trades. This is something big. The sacrifices in the Lottery were resulting in the members getting strength and blessings of some kind, right? But that _can't_ be the only goal. It feels more like a bonus, excess blessings in return for the Lottery's sacrifice which is building to something so much bigger."

"There has to be a place where a spell like this is documented," Livvy muttered.

They'd been searching the library for hours while they waited for Emma and Julian to get to the library. They'd accepted that the two needed some rest, even Diana, and so they waited it out doing research with the notes that Selina had gathered from the Astral investigation. Only Diana was the one she informed about things regarding Malcolm, and since the other children had been contacting Malcolm for help and advice, the two of them shared more than a few nervous glances.

Finnegan and Fionn arrived sooner than Emma and Julian, but the two of them still looked to have rejuvenated with a break. Fionn was back in some of Finnegan's clothes, which, Selina noticed, he was slightly more content with than he should have been. Selina could hardly believe that she had disapproved of them once when the pair were so obviously in love at times that it made her feel warm and fuzzy just watching them.

Selina took a deep breath. Though being an immortal Astral could lead her to falling into an ennui, being reborn into a whole new world and situation that helped her find a new take on life and find happiness again and again. There were many Astrals that didn't bother with humanity and emotions because they were too complex and dangerous, but Selina found that despite all the heartbreak and confusion, she wouldn't be able to survive without the nuanced emotions - good and bad. They reminded her of why she cared about humanity and why she enjoyed it so much.

The rest of the Blackthorns beside Emma and Julian had gathered in the library (along with Diana, of course) and were amusing themselves in their own ways. Ty was sitting at one end of the longest library table in a pool of afternoon sunshine, a pile of papers in front of him, Mark and Selina by his side. Livvy was balanced on top of the table, barefoot, dancing back and forth with her saber, sparring lightly with Finnegan while Fionn admired Finnegan no-so-subtly. Diana and Dru were amusing Tavvy with a book. Selina knew that she should be doing research on where the ritual with flames and flood came from, but it was more interesting to watch Finnegan and Fionn getting along with this complex Shadowhunter family. Anyway, she'd done more than enough research over at Veon's.

Emma had thrown on clean jeans and a tank top hastily and came running into the library looking like a mundane teenager late for class.

"Diana said you went to the convergence," Livvy said, waving her saber as Emma came in. Cristina, who had been standing by a shelf of books, gave her an uncharacteristically cool look.

"Fighting Mantids without me," Mark said, and smiled. "Hardly fair."

"There weren't any Mantids," Emma said. She hopped up onto the table across from Ty, who was still scribbling, and launched into the story of what she had found in the cave.

"I fought the Mantids, following Emma Carstairs' progress at Finnegan's request," Fionn explained.

"Did you fight them _all_ off, you crazy faerie?" Finnegan scolded.

"I was disquieted," Fionn admitted. He said no more to elaborate, but Finnegan could guess that Iarlath had been the one to set him off.

Halfway through Emma's recitation of her findings, Julian came in, his hair as damp as Emma's. He was wearing a jade-colored T-shirt that turned his eyes dark green. Their eyes met and Emma seemed to forget what she was saying.

"Emma?" Cristina prompted after a long pause. "You were saying? You found a dress?"

"This doesn't sound very likely," Livvy said. "Who keeps a dress in a cave?"

"It might have been a ceremonial outfit," Emma speculated. "It was an elaborate robe - and very elaborate jewels."

"So maybe the necromancer is a woman," Cristina said. "Maybe it really _is_ Belinda."

"She didn't strike me as that powerful," Mark volunteered.

"Agreed," Fionn said. "While the affair of the Lottery hosted many powerful beings, Belinda appeared to be naught but a host - on the surface, at the very least."

"You can sense power?" Emma asked. "Is that a faerie thing?"

Mark shook his head, but the half smile he gave felt to Emma like a sliver of Faerie. "Just a feeling."

"I can sense intense energy signatures," Fionn said. "But it is not a trait of our species, merely a trait of those who have chosen to pursue any enchanted training."

"But speaking of faerie things, Mark and Fionn _did_ give us the key to translate more of the markings," Livvy announced.

"Really?" Emma said. "What do they say?"

Ty looked up from the papers. "They gave us the second line, and after that it was easier. Livvy and I worked out most of the third. From looking at the patterns of the markings, it seems to be about five or six lines, repeated."

"Is it a spell? Malcolm and Selina agree that it was probably a summoning spell."

Selina took the papers and reread them. "Hm…

'First the flame and then the flood,  
In the end, it's Blackthorn blood.  
Seek thou to forget what's past-'"

"That's what we have so far," Ty said.

Selina gave Finnegan and Fionn a wary glance. Her intent was clear: she could read the rest - and it wasn't something they wanted to hear.

"Blackthorn blood?" echoed Diana. She had climbed up onto a library ladder to hand a book down to Tavvy.

Emma frowned. "I don't really love the sound of that."

"There's no indication of traditional blood magic," Julian said. "None of the bodies had those kinds of cuts or wounds."

"I wonder about the mention of the past," Mark said. "These kind of rhymes, in Faerie, often encode a spell - like the ballad of 'Thomas the Rhymer.' It is both a story and instructions on how to break someone free of Faerie."

Fionn held his hand out and Selina passed him the papers. "The final two lines are likely most imperative." He pointed to the text. "This symbol means a negative connotation - it could translate to 'not' or 'none' or something related. It is likely saying that you should not seek answers somewhere. The symbol down near the bottom, meanwhile, translates to something more neutral to positive. The second to last line…it seems to be saying something positive about something negative."

"So like 'Thomas the Rhymer,' it could be saying how to break some kind of curse?" Finnegan followed. "Lifting a curse - positive about negative."

"It is a possibility."

For a moment Diana's face was arrested mid-expression, as if she had either suddenly realized or remembered something.

"Diana?" Julian asked. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." She climbed down from the ladder and dusted off her clothes. "I need to make a call."

"Who are you calling?"

Diana only shook her head, her hair brushing her shoulders. "I'll be back." She slipped out the library door.

"But what does it mean?" Emma pondered to the room at large. "In the end, Blackthorn blood what?"

"And if it's a faerie rhyme, then shouldn't they know if there's more of it?" Dru spoke up from the corner where she was busy distracting Tavvy. "The Fair Folk, I mean. They're meant to be on our side for this."

"The Fair Folk are only on one side: their own," Fionn muttered. "They act only if there is something to gain. It is rare to find those who are the exception."

"I have sent a message," Mark said guardedly. "But I will tell you, I only ever heard those two lines of it."

"The most significant thing it means is that somehow this situation - the murders, the bodies, the Followers - is tied to this family." Julian looked around. "Somehow, it's connected to us. To the Blackthorns."

"That would explain why all this is happening in Los Angeles. It is our home."

Julian's expression flickered slightly, and it was easy to know what he was thinking: that Mark had spoken of Los Angeles as a place they all lived, not a place where everyone lived but him. That he had spoken of it as home. Finnegan glanced at Fionn, whose eyes appeared sad.

There was a loud buzzing sound. The map of Los Angeles on the table had started to vibrate. What looked like a small red dot was moving across it. "Sterling's left his house," Cristina said, reaching for the map.

"Belina Belle said he had two days," Julian recalled. "That could mean the hunt starts tomorrow, or it could mean tonight, depending on how they're counting. Anyway, we can't assume."

"Cristina and I will follow him," Emma said. She seemed desperate to get out of the house, desperate to clear her head, desperate even to get away from Julian.

Mark frowned. "We should go with you-"

"No!" Emma snapped, hopping down from the table. Everyone turned to look at her in surprise; she had spoken with more force than she meant to - the truth was, she wanted to talk to Cristina alone. "We're going to have to take it in shifts. We're going to have to tail Sterling twenty-four/seven until something happens, and if we all go every time, we'll just end up with everyone exhausted. Cristina and I will go for a while, and then we can switch with Julian and Mark, Finnegan and Selina, or Fionn and Diana."

"Or me and Ty," Livvy suggested sweetly.

"Julian's eyes were troubled. "Emma, are you sure-?"

"Emma is right," Cristina said unexpectedly. "Taking shifts is the cautious thing to do."

_Cautious_. That word hadn't been applied to Emma in recent history.

Julian glanced away, hiding his expression. At last, he said, "Fine. You win. You two go. But if you need any backup, swear that you'll call right away."

His gaze locked with Emma's as he spoke. The others were talking, discussing how they should search the library, look back through the books detailing different kinds of spells, how long it would take to finish the rest of the translation, whether Malcolm might come to help them, whether they should order vampire pizza. Selina moved to sit beside Fionn and Finnegan, nodding that they needed to speak in private.

"Come on, Emma," Cristina said, rising to her feet and folding the map into her jacket pocket. "We should get going. We need to change into gear and catch up to Sterling - he's heading towards the freeway."

Emma nodded and turned to follow Cristina. She could feel Julian's gaze on her, like a sharp point between her shoulder blades. She resisted looking back, but at the door, she turned, and the look on his face almost undid her. He looked like she felt - hollow and bled dry. It wasn't that she was walking away from the boy she loved with a thousand words unsaid between them, though it was true that she was doing that. It was that she was terrified that a rift had opened between her and the person who had been her best friend as long as she could remember. And from the look of it, Julian was afraid of the same thing.

-**_TTOT_**-

Selina paced back and forth, biting her fingernail. She wasn't one to bite her fingernails, so Finnegan knew this was serious. She looked about ready to blow up.

After securing Finnegan's bedroom at the LA Institute with just him, Fionn, and Selina inside, Finnegan finally asked, "Seels, what's up?"

"I can read the symbols now - crystal clear. Oh, how could I be so _stupid?!_"

"Selina!"

"'First the flame and then the flood,  
In the end, it's Blackthorn blood.  
Seek thou to forget what's past  
First thirteen and then the last.  
Search not the book of angels gray,  
Red or white will lead you far astray.  
To regain what you have lost,  
Find the black book at any cost!'"

Selina recited the entirety of the poem, and though it was certainly interesting and probably vital to the case, Finnegan still didn't fully understand. "Selina, slow down. What does all that mean?"

"Thirteen murders and then a final one that is a Blackthorn! The poem is mentioning the Gray book - with all the Shadowhunter runes - the red and white are the Red Texts and the Book of the White. None of those are going to help. The black book - the _black book!_ Dammit!" She pulled out her phone and punched in a number. "Andreaus, the Black Volume of the Dead! It's definitely being used. Sound the alarm, we need to prepare."

"Selina!" Finnegan snapped. "What is the Black Volume of the Dead?"

She walked over to Finnegan's desk and transformed her phone into one of those fancy Bluetooth phones which she clipped onto her ear. "Yes. The Lottery was choosing killers, not victims. Sterling will kill the last victim - the thirteenth - and then they'll need a Blackthorn. Time to move in on Malcolm. Does HQ have a plan?"

Finnegan sighed. Selina was completely ignoring him. Fionn simply shrugged and moved to sit on Finnegan's bed patiently. If there was one thing Fionn had, it was impeccable patience.

"What? Where did she go?" Selina was scribbling things into a notebook while she listened. "Just wonderful. I'll be right over. I'm bringing Finn and Phoenix."

She slammed closed the notebook in front of her and before Finnegan could ask, the three of them started falling through a portal. Selina and Fionn hit the floor on their feet, Finnegan fell face-first into a soft carpet. A cacophony of voices were speaking, nearly overlapping each other, but they were all efficient and everyone seemed to be understanding each other.

"He's killed the thirteenth - a girl," Rios said. "Saw her at the Lottery. Guess she didn't know the truth about the Lottery either."

"I'm tracking the Convergence for Necromian magic now," Mat announced.

"By the way, Cristina, Emma, and some other dude are heading back to the Institute with Sterling held prisoner. The Institute is currently being surrounded."

"Malcolm is headed there," Max announced. "Along with Val."

"That boy is Diego Rocio Rosales," another voice announced. "I'm going to have some _words_ with him when I get the chance."

Finnegan glanced up at the familiar yet unfamiliar voice. "You're…Aaron?"

Aaron Half-Light, Merida Scion's second-in-command (and possible boyfriend) at the Scholomance. He had been a shy and reserved but kind guy, and underneath his innocent façade, he was actually very intelligent and a loyal soldier who was deadly efficient in battle. He was nothing special on the outside - just a generic mop of brown hair and brown eyes. He had learned about Merida, Finn, and Selina having a faerie friend and being sympathetic to faeries and Downworlers, but beyond that, Finnegan didn't have a lot of reasons to really suspect him as anything more than a nice boy who Merida liked.

"What are-?"

"No time," he snapped. "Malcolm's driving off the other cult members, but they have what they need. They're threatening to reveal the truth about the Blackthorn family and what they've done to the Clave - including the part about Julian."

"Wait, what about Julian?"

"Julian Blackthorn has been running the Los Angeles Institute in lieu of his parents," Laura explained. "Arthur went insane after everything that's happened to him, and Julian had to hide the fact so that his uncle could remain in charge of the Institute and the Blackthorns wouldn't be torn apart. Poor kid's been running the place since he was twelve, looking after his siblings, looking after his uncle and doing all of his uncle's work - he even handled getting food before he could drive."

"The faeries call it madness," Fionn said. "Shadowhunters call it Lunacy. It is usually a punishment in Faerie - the shattering of one's mind."

"Mundanes are kind to those whose minds run differently than most," Max said lightly. "But Shadowhunters are cruel and absolute."

"Malcolm gave Arthur potions to help give him moments of clarity," Rios pointed out. "We sure we should trust that?"

Mat snorted. "Absolutely not."

"Yeah, I found him. He bought weapons from the Shadow Market." Aaron was on the phone, probably with Merida. "Confronting Cristina. Because he decided that she was more important than any mission." Pause. "Yeah. They were supposed to be married and his brother was supposed to be her parabatai, but after a drunken conversation where his brother confessed to just using Cristina, she bailed and now he's begging for forgiveness or something." Pause. "I know. I'll bring him in. He'll be doing the paperwork."

"So Ava Leigh killed Stanley Wells and then Diego got the information out of her because she was guilty, but then she got all murderated and got her hand taken," Andraeus was saying.

"Pretty much," Max sighed. "Dominant hands. Belinda was the first one to do a murder and get her hand taken, but because she was loyal, she's still working for them."

"Looks like Belinda took both of Sterling's hands because she didn't know which hand was used for the murder," Rios announced. "Malcolm showed up and assisted their escape. Sure made a show of it. It looks like the Blackthorns are completely reliant upon Malcolm now that Belinda has threatened to reveal the secrets of the Institute."

"Poor kids…" Laura muttered.

Max was pinning notes to a giant corkboard and tying strings with her telepathic powers. "Most sacrificial spells require commonalities among the victims."

"Like those with the Sight, virgins, or all with a certain blood type," Aaron agreed. "But in this case, the killings are random and don't discriminate - except to otherwise avoid the Clave's attention with the Accords and all."

"The spell that brings people back from the dead requires murderers," Mat explained. "That poem you said you had, Seline. Wasn't it a faerie rhyme?"

"Yes," Selina said. "Meaning that for the right person, it is a clear list of instructions. How to bring back the dead - but not just any dead. Annabel. Like Annabel Lee, but not Annabel Lee - Annabel _Blackthorn_."

"Malcolm's former lover." They all looked over as Veon stepped into the room. His eyes looked cold as stone. "I thought Malcolm had dedicated himself to being _better_ after losing her. I had _hoped_."

"Veon-"

"What's our plan of attack?" he snapped.

"We've only confirmed that Malcolm is attempting necromancy to revive Annabel," Andraeus said. "Only Mat can get involved, by the laws of the Covenant. Of course, that only restricts us deities. Mortals are in a different boat. We can't help them, beyond perhaps giving them important information."

"What Covenant?" Finnegan spoke up. The attention was drawn to him. It almost seemed as though the resident…deities had forgotten or didn't even realize he was there.

"The AEGIS Covenant is a sort of…set of rules between the supernaturals and humans," Selina explained. "It's like the Accords, but on a grander scale, with things like the gods being involved. It's far older, and all of the gods themselves agreed to the terms. And yes, the Shadowhunters and the Downworld are a part of the Covenant as well - the Accords are simply the mortal branch of the Covenant, and honestly we want to remake the Accords, but we've been a little busy as of late. Raziel and the other angels have been warned about Nephilim going rogue - people like Valentine. Once we figure out the whole thing with the Hexatheon, a lot of us are vouching for an intervention when it comes to the shitty state of the Shadow World. Shadowhunters have grown arrogant and rude, and we all know it. Granted Faerie needs work as well."

"Cruelty begets cruelty," Mat muttered. "It's a never-ending cycle of violence and hatred. Good people aren't able to be good, bad people are able to get away with things under the guise of righteousness. Ugh. It's so annoying."

"In any case, the Accords say that deities are restricted from interfering with mortal affairs to the point that it would cause a drastic change in history or fate," Max explained. "That means that only the deities here who are mostly mortal are allowed to interfere with the Malcolm situation - at least until it becomes a personal attack against them or their people. With the case of Mat, he's a Necromian, meaning necromancy is something he's allowed to get involved in. Me, Veon, and Finnegan are all allowed to interfere directly. Seline has merged with Selina to the point that they are near indistinguishable, but there's also your parabatai bond that links you directly to Finnegan's fate, meaning that she's a little on the fence right now. We could probably bring it up in court if you play your cards right, Selina, but for now you should keep it on the down-low."

Selina nodded. "Regrettably, she's right. The Covenant is different from the Accords, but I understand why it was made - as do all of us. We cannot interfere with fate, rules, customs. If we do, we'll be brought to trial. Even if we win the case, it'll be time we _don't_ have - especially with the current disaster that is the godly hierarchy right now. And trying to interfere with fate will either cause it to whiplash back into place or completely snap - neither is going to be pretty."

"I don't need all your help," Veon said. "I just need enough help to stop Malcolm. Max, Finnegan, if you're willing?"

"Of course," Max nodded. "He took my sister. If nothing else will get her back, killing Malcolm will reverse any enchantments that he has on her. No neutral spell could possibly hold her in check. He must be sustaining it personally. Meaning death equals no more of his magic."

"What happened to Val?" Finnegan asked.

"Malcolm's taken her mind," Selina explained. "Val's powers rely on perception and mind manipulation. Memory perception is a skill that all warlocks can use, but only Val can manage grand and nuanced memory tampering."

"If Malcolm managed to take over her mind, that'd definitely eliminate her as a threat," Aaron pointed out. "I do wonder…what would Malcolm's goal be in terms of keeping the secrets of Dearil?"

Andraeus's eyes clouded over in thought. "We should send someone to go talk to Brynhildr about it."

"I will go," Aaron announced. "Aaron will meet you at the Institute when he can. Until then, I'm the fastest and most discreet traveler."

"I'd argue, but you're right," Mat said. "I'll be at the Convergence keeping an eye on things. I can't promise I'll be able to do anything but mitigate the damage if you don't figure things out. Malcolm _is_ still human, and if he follows the right instructions for a spell, I won't have any reason to deny him his favor - exactly how he invokes it."

"I thought you were gonna _help_ us, Mat," Laura protested.

"When it comes to the Infernian situation. The mortal affairs are still business as usual: whatever comes to us is fair game."

Rios rolled his eyes. "There's a reason Necromians are hated among the deities."

"Speak for yourself," Aaron muttered.

"Excuse me? What are you implying?"

"Nothing much. But only those who are already ostracised are willing to help the Infernian cause at the moment. You must notice the pattern. Nearly everyone in the Resistance are outcasts whose situation couldn't have gotten any worse by joining a rebellion. We're the only ones who aren't silenced by social standards and peer pressure because we've already been resisting against conformity." He glanced at Rios with a small smirk. "You're here because you don't fit in with your kind. I have a feeling you aren't well-liked either."

"And who are _you_ to talk, card-man?"

"Necromians were born from a dark art," Mat interrupted. "We were born from darkness, so you can't expect us to follow the rules in the light."

"Which came first, the concept or the gods?" Max muttered.

"Far easier than the chicken and the egg," Laura smirked.

"In any case, this has nothing to do with the Infernian situation," Mat sighed. "I gave you updates on this Malcolm case because Malcolm is involved in some bad things when it comes to restoring Phoenix. But if his ultimate goal isn't related to the god situation at all, then it's business as usual until it's not. If you take him out, that's your merit. But if he's invoking normal necromancy, then we're business as usual."

"He needs a Blackthorn, right?" Selina said. "We should head over and warn them."

"You can't," Andy declared.

"What? Why not?!"

"Fate. You've figured it out as a deity, and sadly, Mat is right. If it doesn't involve the Infernian cause, we're still bound by the Covenant. What happens to the Blackthorns now is out of our control."

"What about me?" Finnegan demanded. "I'm still human. I can tell them."

Aaron sighed. "We're already in over our heads here. We've broken more than enough protocols to be taken to court."

Fionn held his head and winced. "I'm being summoned."

"By who?" Finnegan asked.

"Gwyn. He knows not of my location, but he demands my presence."

"Go," Max said. "Ace, go find Brynhildr and then send Aaron back to the Institute to help out. Since the two of you are still separate and Aaron doesn't know about you, you've got the most mobility."

"How comforting." Aaron waved his hand and twisted his body. A giant, seven-foot-tall card appeared around and consumed him, spinning like a revolving door; it began and ended sideways so that it looked invisible. Like some kind of magic act with the thin, 90-degree angle of the card physically appearing and disappearing based on perception, Aaron actually vanished into the large card as if it were a doorway. Now Finnegan understood when Rios had called him 'card-man.'

"I must take my leave," Fionn said. "Lock, seek out your lost companion. I impart upon you my most hopeful of wishes. I bid you farewell."

He turned to Finnegan, planted a full kiss on his lips, and then walked out the door heading up to the roof. They heard the crackling of thunder as Zoltan appeared and whisked him away.

Selina looked out the window. "It's almost dawn. Finn, let's get back to the L.A. Institute."

"We should really head to the Frisco Institute and catch up on work."

"Oh, don't worry about that, sweetie. You've got some deities on your side during these troubling times. Work is handling itself."

"Do I even wanna _know_ how you're pulling that off?"

"Clones! You and I are currently handling paperwork in our office. We're making trips to the L.A. Institute, but one way or another, all the affairs are being handled. Don't worry. We may be bound by the Covenant, but there are some exceptions we can make. Anything important that needs to be handled personally comes straight to me."

"She's right though," Andy said. "You should head back to the Blackthorns. They'll find out the truth about Malcolm on their own, but for now, we aren't able to do anything about it. You should make sure that all of them are safe. If they are, then make sure it stays that way. If Malcolm gets his hand on a Blackthorn, you can prompt them, but it has to be _their_ discovery. I know you said you're human, Finnegan, and that's true in only the same manner that Selina is. Follow her orders and instructions to the letter, or things could get worse. Far worse. You've been dragged into the world of the Astrals, and you can't get out."

* * *

**Chapter title: '_Firework_' by Katy Perry**


	18. My Life is Such a Tragedy

**Final battles take a _long_ time to write. Why? Who knows?**

**I've finally made it to the point in the story where I've got so many notes and plans and I can only hope that I managed to make it all work and not forget the important details that I've been obsessing over for ages. I'll probably have the next part of the story up soon because it's already written - just need to edit it and then come up with a title (still difficult).**

**I have the next chapter, then the final battle in the one after that, then the aftermath. I love you Cassandra Clare but dang does a lot of talking happen - especially with Emma and Malcolm just reiterating all the information we already know and while I do like it, I'm thinking about skipping the pages and pages of arguing back and forth about each other's philosophies.**

**Like I said at the beginning, I _do_ plan to divert to my own story, dang it. Lord of Shadows is where I have most of my actual plans and with so much happening in QoAaD I've started planning that too. But that's a ways away. Hopefully not _too_ far away, but a ways away nonetheless.**

* * *

A single note. The sound of Gwyn the Hunter's horn: sharp and harsh, as lonely as mountains. It was not a greeting or even a call to the Hunt. It was the note Gwny blew when they were searching out a deserter. It was the sound of betrayal.

The note rang through Fionn's ears and pierced his heart. He couldn't tell if he should be angry. Even if he was, his heart felt too numb to tell.

He rode Zoltan behind Gwyn. Between him and Gwyn, at either side, were Kieran - sitting his horse like a dancer, his hair nearly black in the sunlight - and Iarlath, wrapped in dark robes. They formed a diamond with their steeds. Fionn let his steed follow behind. His thoughts were a distant smoke. He reached out to try and retrieve them, but they slipped through his grasp and blew away.

He was hurt. He was afraid. He had known something like this would happen, he just hadn't been prepared for it to be so soon - for it to be right now. He thought up every conceivable help he could call upon, but he couldn't find a solution. This was unavoidable.

Julian and Emma greeted them - Emma wielding her sword, Cortana. The faerie convoy dismounted their horses, who remained unnaturally still, as if tied in place. Even Zoltan remained with them rather than fleeing. Their eyes were blood red, their manes wound with red flowers.

Gwyn approached the foot of the steps. He had a strange face by mortal standards, slightly alien: wide eyes, broad cheekbones, wicked eyebrows. One black eye, and one that was pale blue. Beside him came Iarlath, his yellow eyes unblinking. And at his other side, Kieran. His pale face was as severely cut as white marble, his black and silver eyes uncanny in the daylight. Fionn stayed behind them, wanting to avoid every moment of this that he could. He started to understand that thing that Wolf had told him about - an existential crisis. Suddenly Fionn started questioning his very existence, why he was here, why this had to happen to him. He had had terrible moments before, but never had he felt so vulnerable that he felt like a puppet, held up only by his strings.

"What's going on?" Emma demanded. "Has something happened?"

Gwyn glanced at her dismissively. "This is none of your affair, Carstairs girl," he said. "This matter concerns Mark Blackthorn. None of the rest of you."

Julian crossed his arms over his chest. "Anything that concerns my brother concerns me. In fact, it concerns all of us."

Kieran's mouth set into a hard, uncompromising line. "We are Gwyn and Kieran of the Wild Hunt, and Iarlath and Fionn of the Unseelie Court, here on a matter of justice. And you _will_ fetch your brother."

Emma moved to stand in the center of the top step, unsheathing Cortana, which sent bright sparks skittering into the air. "Don't tell him what to do. Not here. Not on the steps of the Institute."

Gwyn gave an unexpected, rumbling laugh. "Don't be a fool, Carstairs girl. No single Shadowhunter can hold off four of the Fair Folk, not even armed with one of the Great Swords."

"I wouldn't underestimate Emma," Julian said in a voice like razor wire. "Or you'll find your head lying on the ground next to your still-twitching body."

"How graphic," Iarlath said, amused. "What say you, Fionn Flann? Is the Carstairs child truly so skilled?"

"She speaks highly of herself, however she is brash and unfocused in combat when angered. She is hasty to judge a situation in and out of battle, and her method of fighting involves a lack of self-preservation. She values the lives of her family above herself, and she believes her ideals are the only true reality. She is not as intelligent as her parabatai - especially when it comes to negotiation and deceit. She prefers physical force when it comes to getting her way."

The two of them sent glares of ice towards Fionn, however, he was already too numb to care anymore.

"Retrieve Mark Blackthorn," Gwyn ordered.

Fionn nodded and started forward. His black hound with a silver collar, Argentum, walked beside him.

"No, you are not welcome here," Emma declared.

Fionn stalked up to her as she tightened her grip on her weapon. "I have been welcomed into your Institute not by you, Emma Carstairs. And until he denies me access, you cannot speak in his name."

Fionn disappeared into wisps of smoke, along with his hound, and they disappeared into their shadows. They reappeared behind the pair of Shadowhunters inside the Institute walls with Aurum joining them. Aurum hurried ahead of his master, sprinting up the stairs on the hunt. Fionn simply waited with Argentum. A moment later, Mark came down the stairs, following Aurum. He looked as if he had thrown on jeans and a sweater in a hurry, and hammed his feet into sneakers. His blond hair was ruffled and he looked younger than he usually did, his eyes wide in surprise and undefended astonishment. Fionn and his hounds escorted Mark out the doors of the Institute. Mark went willingly.

"But my time isn't up," Mark was saying. He was speaking to Gwyn, but looking at Kieran. There was an expression on his face - one that was hard to interpret or describe, one that seemed to mix pleading and pain and gladness. "We're still trying to find out what's going on. Surely Fionn has told you. We're nearly there. But the deadline-"

"_Deadline?_" Kieran echoed. "Listen to you. You sound like one of them."

Mark looked surprised. "But, Kieran-"

"Mark Blackthorn," Iarlath interrupted. "You stand accused of sharing one of the secrets of Faerie with a Shadowhunter, despite being expressly forbidden to do so."

"What's happening?!"

Fionn felt his heart jump in misery. He had hoped they would be occupied longer, but that was a vague hope at best.

Finnegan and Selina hurried out the doors of the Institute. They were dressed in new clothes and they had the trace of a warlock's portal magic on them - Lock, specifically. Fionn knew it well.

"You shared a secret?" Finnegan repeated.

Selina sighed, closing the door of the Institute behind her. "I had hoped I had been wrong. Unfortunately, my dreams appear to have been accurate."

"What do you mean?" Finnegan demanded.

Mark took several steps forward, until he was standing beside Julian. He clasped his hands behind his back; they were shaking. "I…I don't know what you mean. I haven't told my family or Finnegan and his parabatai anything forbidden."

"Not your family," Kieran said, an ugly twist to his voice. "_Her._"

"Her?" Julian said, looking at Emma, but she shook her head.

"Not her," Fionn said. "Cristina."

"You presumed that Fionn's absence meant you were unobserved?" Kieran asked. His black and silver eyes were like etched daggers. "I was outside the window when I heard you speaking with her. You told her how Gwyn could be deprived of his powers. A secret known only to the Hunt, and forbidden to repeat."

Mark had turned the color of ashes. "I didn't-"

"There is no point in lying," Iarlath said. "Kieran is a prince of Faerie and cannot speak untruths. If he says he overheard this, then he did."

"Selina, tell me this is just a big misunderstanding," Finnegan begged.

She stood straight, crossing her legs as she stood and crossing her arms pensively. If she had glasses, she'd probably be readjusting them. "Unfortunately, it is true. I overheard it through our connection while I was unconscious. Dreams of the gods allow us to see all that is within our domain. Fionn had been sent to the Convergence - to chase after the brash Emma Carstairs. He was not there to stop Mark Blackthorn from revealing the information - almost unconsciously. Living in such a…_sedate_…environment seemed to have caused you to slip up, Mark. I was trying to explain, however, we were interrupted."

Mark shifted his gaze to Kieran. The sunlight no longer seemed beautiful, but merciless, beating down on Mark's gold hair and skin. Hurt spread across his face like the stain of red from a slap. "It would never mean anything to Cristina. She would never tell anyone. She would never hurt me or the Hunt."

"She is a Shadowhunter," Fionn pointed out. "She will use what means she must if she is commanded to do so."

"Fionn, you _know_ her! She would betray no secrets should even the Clave seek to abuse her."

"She is loyal to her cause and her beliefs." Fionn's black and silver eyes, which had become so familiar to Finnegan, now felt as cold and unrecognizing as his brother's. "Shadowhunters follow their blood. They do not listen to reason. Her loyalty is to her people, and should her people turn against us, she will stand with _them_."

Finnegan's gaze reminded Fionn of shattering glass. He knew all the things the Shadowhunter was thinking, but it all boiled down to one desperate question: '_How could you, after all we've been through?_'

Kieran turned his face away, his beautiful mouth twisting at the corner. "Enough."

Mark took a step forward. "Kieran. How can you do this? To me?"

Kieran's face was bleak with pain. "Mine is not the betrayal. Speak to your Shadowhunter princess of promises broken."

"Fionn, you must know-"

"Do not speak to me," Fionn muttered. His Io gauntlet encased a hand clenched into a fist. "I have failed in my duties, guarding over you both. I am in no position to argue untruths."

"Gwyn." Mark turned to plead with the Hunt's leader. "What is between myself and Kieran is not a matter for the law of the Courts or the Hunt. Since when did they interfere in matters of the heart?"

Emma and Julian seemed to realize what Mark meant. These were two people who loved each other. Two people who had hurt each other the way only two people in love could. Kieran looked at Mark as if Mark had taken something irreplaceably precious from him. And Mark looked…Mark looked crushed.

Fionn avoided Finnegan's harsh gaze, because he knew that if he met it, he would snap.

"Child," Gwyn said, and there was a surprising gentleness to his voice. "I regret the necessity of this visit more than I can say. And believe me, the Hunt does not interfere, as you say, in matters of the heart. But you broke one of the oldest laws of the Hunt, and put every member of it into danger."

"Exactly," said Kieran. "Mark has broken the law of Faerie, and for that, he must return to Faerie with us and tarry no longer in the human world."

"No," Iarlath interjected. "That is not the punishment."

"What?" Kieran turned to him, puzzled. His hair flared at the edges with blue and white like hoarfrost. "But you said-"

"I said nothing to you of punishment, princeling." Iarlath stepped forward. "You told me of Mark Blackthorn's actions and I said they would be duly dealt with. If you believed that meant he would be dragged back to Faerie to be your companion, then perhaps you should remember that the security of the gentry of Faerie is more paramount than the fancies of a son of the Unseelie King." He looked hard at Mark, his eyes eerie in the bright sunlight. "The King has given me leave to choose your punishment. It will be twenty whip-lashes across the back, and count yourself lucky it is not more." Iarlath's smirk was piercing. "Fionn Flan Kingson is not allowed to volunteer - he shall be the deliverer of this punishment as his own."

"What is _he_ being punished for?" Finnegan's voice was cold and unsympathetic. He had lost all his warmth.

"He has crossed both I and the Unseelie King. On the same eve as Mark Blackthorn's infraction, no less. The punishment is appropriate. Fionn shall deliver a mere twenty whip-lashes. He has aided Mark Blackthorn in avoiding more in the past."

"_NO!_" The word was like an explosion. To everyone's surprise, it was Julian - Julian who never raised his voice. Julian, who never shouted. He started down the steps; Emma followed him, Cortana ready in her hand.

Kieran and Mark were silent, looking at each other. The rest of the blood had left Kieran's face and he looked sick. He didn't move as Kieran stepped forward, blocking Kieran's view of Mark.

"If any of you touch my brother to harm him," Julian warned, "I will kill you."

Gwyn shook his head. "Do not think I do not admire your spirit, Blackthorn. But I would think twice before moving to harm a convoy of Faerie."

"Move to prevent this, and our agreement will be at an end," Iarlath explained. "The investigation will stop, and we will take Mark back with us to Faerie. And he will be whipped there, and worse than any whipping he could receive here. You will win nothing and lose much."

Julian's hands tightened into fists. "You think you alone understand honor? You who cannot understand what we might lose by standing here and letting you humiliate and torture Mark? This is why faeries are despised - this senseless cruelty."

"Careful, boy," rumbled Gwyn. "You have your Laws and we have ours. The difference is only that we do not pretend ours are not cruel."

"The Law is hard," said Iarlath with amusement, "but it is the Law."

"A bad law is no law." Mark spoke for the first time since Iarlath had pronounced his sentence.

"Do not ever tell me that I do not understand humiliation," Fionn hissed. He kept his eyes down and refused to meet anyone's gaze. "Unjust humiliation and torture…" He closed his eyes. "You should listen to Iarlath. You are lucky."

"You came to us," Julian said. There was desperation in his voice. "You came to us - you made a bargain with us. You need our help. We have put everything on the line, risked everything, to solve this. Fine, Mark made a mistake, but this loyalty test is misplaced."

"It is not about loyalty," Iarlath said. "It is about setting an example. These are the laws. This is how it works. If we let Mark betray us, others will learn we are weak." His look was pleased. Greedy. "The bargain is important. But this is more important."

Mark moved forward then, catching at Julian's shoulder. "You can't change it, little brother. Let it happen." He looked at Iarlath, then at Gwyn. He reluctantly looked at Fionn for only a moment. He didn't look at Kieran. "I will take the punishment."

Iarlath's laugh was a cold, sharp sound like cracking icicles. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a handful of blood-red stones. He threw them to the ground. Mark, clearly familiar with what Iarlath was doing, blanched. At the spot on the ground where Iarlath had thrown his stones, something had begun to grow. A tree, bent and gnarled and twisted, its bark and leaves the color of blood. Mark watched it in horrified fascination. Kieran looked as if he was going to throw up.

"Jules," Emma whispered. It was the first time she had called him that since the night on the beach.

Julian stared blindly at Emma for a moment before turning and lurching the rest of the way down the steps. After a frozen moment, Emma followed him. Iarlath moved immediately to block her way.

"Put your sword away," he snarled. "No weapons in the presence of the Fair Folk. We know how well you cannot be trusted with them."

Emma whipped Cortana up so fast that the blade was a blur. Fionn knew he should stop her, but he didn't. The top of her weapon sailed beneath Iarlath's chin, a millimeter from his skin, describing the arc of a deadly smile. He made a noise in his throat even as she slammed the sword into the sheath on her back with enough force to be audible. She stared at him, eyes blazing with rage.

Gwyn chuckled. "And here I thought all the Carstairs were good for was music."

Iarlath gave Emma a filthy look before whirling away and stalking towards Mark. "Fionn Flann." Fionn stepped forward at the command. His strings were tugged against his will, but he had no energy to fight. "Draw your whip." He swung out his hand and a long green whip from his Io emerged. "Mark Blackthorn, put your hands on the trunk of the quickbeam." Finnegan assumed he meant the dark, twisted tree with its sharp branches and blood-colored leaves.

"No." Kieran, sounding desperate, whirled fluidly towards Iarlath. He dropped to the ground, kneeling, his hands outstretched. "I beg you. As a prince of the Unseelie Court, I beg you. Do not hurt Mark. Do what you will with me instead."

Iarlath snorted. "Your father has given a command to prevent his son from receiving punishment. Whipping both you or Fionn would incur your father's wrath. This will not. Get to your feet, child-prince. Do not shame yourself further."

Kieran staggered upright. "Please," he said, looking not at Iarlath, but at Mark.

Mark gave him a look full of so much searing hate that Finnegan nearly recoiled. Kieran looked, if possible, even sicker. Fionn reached out and took his brother's shoulder. Kieran flinched away, looking at his brother with desperation. Fionn was forced to look away.

Finnegan glanced towards Selina, but he saw nothing of his parabatai within her. She was entirely a deity at the moment, and she was allowing this to happen. She probably couldn't interfere, based on the laws that he'd heard from before.

"You should have foreseen this, whelp," Iarlath said, but his gaze wasn't on Kieran - it was on Mark, hungry, full of appetite, as if the thought of a whipping drew him like the thought of food. Mark reached out towards the tree-

Julian stepped forward. "Whip me instead."

For a moment, everyone froze. Emma looked as if a baseball had slammed into her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Mark whirled around to face his brother. "You can't. Mine is the crime. Mine must be the punishment."

Fionn looked at Julian, finally raising his eyes. He felt a well of emotions overflowing within him. Julian reminded him a great deal of himself. Mark was the one who deserved punishment, it's true. Fionn didn't care who he whipped, but he knew that the punishment was necessary one way or another. It was meant to hurt him, to hurt Mark, and to hurt Kieran. It would hurt Julian, it would hurt Emma, it would hurt Finnegan - regardless of whose blood was shed.

Julian stepped past Mark, almost pushing him aside in his determination to present himself in front of Gwyn. He stood with his back straight and chin up. "In a faerie battle, one can pick a champion to represent them. If I could stand in for my brother in a fight, why not now?"

"Because I'm the one who broke the law!" Mark looked desperate.

"My brother was taken at the beginning of the Dark War," Julian continued. "He never fought in the battle. His hands are clean of faerie blood. Whereas I was in Alicante. I killed Fair Folk."

"He's goading you," Mark said. "He doesn't mean it-"

"I do mean it. It's the truth."

"I shed more faerie blood than you, Julian!" Finnegan suddenly interjected. "I am your elder. I sent Fionn to the Convergence that night so that he was not there to guard Mark. I was there when Mark revealed his secrets to Cristina and I was unable to stop him." He glared daggers at Fionn, daring him to act. "Give me the punishment, faerie-man. Do it or I will _make_ you."

Fionn's eyes snapped to Finnegan's with a murderous rage that he hadn't expected. For a moment, it was just the two of them, standing in a dark void. Hours ago they had been together, everything had been fine. Now, Fionn was a stranger. He was a powerful faerie that he had just threatened to abuse his true name. He went from depressed and numb to angry - his demeanor was filled with pure hatred. His eyes almost said '_Die puny, traitorous Nephilim._' Finnegan nearly whimpered at the unfairness of it all.

Before Finnegan could react, Fionn launched himself towards Finnegan, his hand clenched around the Shadowhunter's throat. He expected to slam into the Institute stairs, but instead he gently descended - still held by his throat, and his vision clouded. Magic. He couldn't see it, but Fionn had placed a sigil on Finnegan's throat for Silence.

"My apologies, Finnegan Scion, but you are not allowed to interfere either."

"Then it will be me," Julian announced.

"He is not barred from volunteering to take the place of this condemned man; we cannot gainsay it." Gwyn's look was troubled. "Are you sure, Julian Blackthorn? This is not your punishment to take."

Julian inclined his head. "I'm sure."

"Let him take the whipping," Kieran said. "He wants it. Let him have it."

After that, things happened very quickly. Mark threw himself at Kieran, his expression murderous. He was shouting as he dug his fingers into the front of Kieran's shirt. Emma moved forward, but was knocked back by Gwyn. Fionn's eyes flashed pure black - even his silver eye reverted temporarily. He turned and dashed past Emma, pulled out of the way by Gwyn, and pulled Kieran and Mark apart, pushing Mark brutally aside.

"You will not harm my brother," Fionn declared.

"Bastard." Mark's mouth was bleeding. He spit at Kieran's feet. "You arrogant-"

"Enough, Mark," snapped Gwyn. "Kieran and Fionn are princes of the Unseelie Court."

"They are my enemies. Now and forevermore, my enemies." He raised a hand as if to strike Kieran; Kieran held his hand up to stop Fionn from moving, just looking at Mark with shattered eyes. Mark lowered his hand and turned away, as if he couldn't bear to look at Kieran any longer. "Jules," he said instead. "Julian, please, don't do this. Let me."

Julain gave his brother a slow, sweet smile. In that smile was all the love and wonder of the little boy who'd lost his brother and against all odds, gotten him back. "It can't be you, Mark-"

"Take him," Iarlath said to Gwyn. Gwyn, reluctance written all over his face, stepped forward and caught hold of Mark, pulling him away from Julian. Mark struggled, but Gwyn was a massive man with enormous arms. He held tightly to Mark, his expression impassive, as Julian reached down and pulled off his jacket, and then his shirt.

In the bright daylight his skin, lightly tanned but paler over his back and chest, looked vulnerable and exposed. His hair was ruffled all over from the collar of the shirt, and as he dropped it on the ground he looked at Emma. His look broke through the icy vise of shock that gripped her.

"Julian." Her voice shook. "You can't do this." She moved forward and found Iarlath blocking her way.

"Stay," Iarlath hissed. He stepped away from Emma, who went to go after him and found her legs pinned in place. She couldn't move. The buzz of enchantment pricked along her legs and spine, holding her as firmly in place as a bear trap. She tried to wrench herself forward and had to bite back a shriek of pain as the faerie magic clamped and tore at her skin.

Julian took a step forward and put his hands against the tree, bending his head. White scars and black marks pattered his back like a child's illustration drawn in skin and blood.

"Let me _go!_" Mark shouted, twisting in Gwyn's grasp.

It was like a nightmare, one of those dreams where you were running and running and never getting anywhere, except now it was real. She was struggling to move her arms and legs against the invisible force that kept her pinned like a butterfly to a board.

Fionn stepped towards Julian at Iarlath's behest. His long green whip flicked forward, tasting the air. Fionn drew his arm back.

"Selina, do something!" Emma begged.

"I cannot interfere with the affairs of Faerie Law," Selina said simply. "Mark broke the Law. Julian has willingly taken his place. To interfere now would mean declaring war on the Wild Hunt and the Unseelie Court alike."

"Foolish Shadowhunters," Iarlath said. "Too naïve to even know who you can trust. Begin."

"One." The whip came down. It bit into Julian's skin, blood flowed, his back arched, his body bowed.

Pain exploded inside of Emma. It was as if a bar of fire had been laid across her back. She flinched, tasting blood inside her mouth.

"Stop it!" Mark yelled. "Can't you see you're hurting them both? _That's not the punishment!_ Let me go, I don't have a parabatai, let me go whip me instead-"

Kieran took a step forward. Fionn turned and threw his whip towards his brother, releasing binding rings of green energy that encircled his ankles, wrists, and neck. He was locked into place.

"Do not interfere, brother."

Gwyn, Iarlath, and Kieran were looking from Emma to Julian. There was a long, bloody welt along Julian's back, and he was clutching the trunk of the tree. Sweat darkened his hairline. If what she had felt had been agony, she wondered what _he_ felt. Twice, four times as much?

"Send her away," Iarlath said irritably. "This wailing is ridiculous."

"This is not hysterics, Iarlath!" Kieran snapped. "It's because she's his parabatai. His warrior partner - they're bonded-!"

"He speaks the truth," Fionn said, standing at attention. "The pain of Julian Blackthorn is the pain of Emma Carstairs. We are punishing two."

"The bonds of a parabatai say that their souls are bound and connected as one," Selina said. "Unfortunately, that means that when Julian agreed to take Mark's punishment, he spoke for Emma as well - in Julian's volunteering, he has consented for her to take the punishment as well. I'm sorry, Mark, but Julian's actions have warranted every aspect of this deed."

"By the Lady, such a fuss," Iarlath hissed. "Fionn Flann, continue." Fionn clenched a fist, but as Iarlath gazed into his eyes with a light smirk, Fionn turned his back to Iarlath and raised his hand.

"Two." He brought the whip down again.

This time, Julian made noise. A choked sound, barely audible. He slid to his knees, still clutching at the tree. Pain lanced through Emma again, but now she was braced, prepared. She screamed - not just any scream, but an echoing sound of horror and betrayal, a shriek of rage and pain and fury.

Gwyn threw his arm out towards Iarlath, but he was looking at Emma. "Stop."

Emma felt the weight of his gaze, and then a lightness as the enchantment that had pinned her in place snapped asunder. She dashed towards Julian and dropped down beside him, yanking her stele from her belt. Iarlath protested, but Gwyn told him roughly to leave it be. Fionn was happy for the excuse to stop.

Julian turned towards Emma. He had bitten through his lower lip. Blood dropped off his chin. He looked at her blindly, like a man staring at a mirage. "Em?" he gasped.

"Shush," she said, putting her hand against his cheek, her fingers in his hair. He was wet with blood and sweat, his pupils blown wide open. She could see herself in them, see her pale, strained face.

She laid her stele against his skin. "I need to heal him. Let me heal him."

"This is ridiculous," Iarlath protested. "The boy should take the whipping-"

"Leave it, Iarlath," Gwyn said. His arms were tight around Mark.

"He cannot take the whipping if he dies before we are even halfway through," Fionn agreed. "If he so much as loses consciousness, he will not have received the punishment in full. You may heal him, Emma Carstairs. Iratze _only_."

Iarlath subsided, muttering. Mark was struggling and gasping. The stele was cold in Emma's hand, colder still as she brought it down against Julian's skin. She drew the rune. Fionn's eyes widened.

"No-!"

"Sleep, my love," she whispered, so low that only Julian could hear her. For a moment his eyes fluttered wide, clear and astonished. Then they shut, and he slumped to the ground.

"_Emma!_" Mark's voice was a shout. "What have you done?!"

Emma rose to her feet, turning to see Iarlath's face, blazing with rage. Fionn's face was merely shock. Gwyn, though - there were flashes of amusement in his eyes.

"I knocked him out," Emma said firmly. "He's unconscious. Nothing you can do will wake him."

Iarlath's lip curled. "You think to deprive us of our punishment by depriving him of his ability to feel it? Are you such a fool?" He turned towards Gwyn. "Bring Mark forward," he snarled. "We will whip him instead, and then we will have whipped two Blackthorns."

"No!" Kieran cried. "No! I forbid it! I cannot bear it-!"

"No one cares what you can bear, princeling, least of all I."

"I care," Fionn said. His eyes raised to Kieran. "I care what your heart might bear, brother. And that is precisely why I must allow Miach to receive the punishment for which he is responsible for. I have raised you to understand the concept of consequences, Kieran. It is far more painful to bear witness to the pain of your loved ones than to hold upon you the weight of their actions yourself, but we both must come to terms with the concept that we cannot protect each piece of our heart forever."

Kieran stared at Fionn. His expression was not that of disbelief - Fionn had always been like that, trying to teach him hard lessons to make sure he was prepared. Kieran was simply pained that this was the result of everything that they had both feared. To Fionn, Kieran looked like he was ready to say '_I hate you_.' Fionn wouldn't have protested if that was the case.

Iarlath's smile was twisted. "Yes, we will whip both brothers. Mark will not escape. And I doubt your parabatai will soon forgive you for it," he added, turning back to Emma.

"Instead of whipping two Blackthorns," she said, "you can whip a Carstairs. Wouldn't that be better?"

Gwyn hadn't moved at Ialrath's order; now his eyes widened. Kieran drew in his breath. Fionn exhaled; he had suspected Emma would be so brash.

"Julian told you he killed faeries during the Dark War. But I have killed many more. I cut their throats; I wet my fingers with their blood. I'd do it again."

"Silence!" Rage filled Iarlath's voice. "How dare you brag of such things?"

She reached down and yanked up her shirt. Mark's eyes widened as she dropped it to the ground. She was standing in front of them in just her bra and jeans, but she didn't care. She didn't feel naked - she felt clothed in rage and fury, like a warrior from one of Arthur's tales.

"Whip me," she demanded. "Agree to it and this will end here. Otherwise I swear I will hunt you through the lands of Faerie unto eternity. Mark can't, but I can."

"You can _try_, Carstairs child," Fionn muttered. He closed his eyes pensively. "The decision is not mine to make, but I wish to ask something of you, Emma Carstairs. If I am to do this for you, for your parabatai and his kin, might I yet ask of you one boon you might grant?"

Emma's eyes narrowed at him. "What could you possibly want?"

"I will do this for you on one condition: you forgive. That is all I ask of you, Emma. Forgive."

He didn't say who she should forgive, but Emma had no time to try and question him if he was determined not to clarify. Forgiving was difficult, forgiving was difficult for _Emma_. But it was a noble wish, at least. Perhaps Fionn had a reason to ask that of her.

"Fine."

"Then it will be done." Fionn's sharp glare turned on Iarlath.

Iarlath said something exasperated in a language Emma didn't know, turning to look at the ocean.

"Move the Blackthorn," Fionn ordered.

The rings binding Kieran dissipated. Kieran was stunned only for a moment before he moved forward towards Julian's crumbled form.

"Don't you touch him!" Mark yelled, but Kieran didn't look at him, just slid his hands under Julian's arms and drew him away from the tree. He laid him down a few feet away, removing his own long tunic to wrap it around Julian's unconscious, bleeding body. Fionn pulled a bottle from a pouch on his hip and tossed it to Selina. She simply nodded at him and closed it into her hand.

Emma expelled a breath of relief. The sun felt hot on her naked back. "Do it. Unless you are too cowardly to whip a girl."

"We are not so sexist, Shadowhunter," Fionn muttered.

"Emma stop," Mark begged. His voice was full of a terrible ache. "Let it be me."

Iarlath's eyes had brightened with a cruel light. "Very well, Carstairs. Do as your parabatai did. Ready yourself for the whip."

Emma saw Gwyn's expression turn to one of sadness as she moved towards the tree. The bark, up close, was smooth and dark red-brown. It felt cool to the touch as she slid her arms around it. She could see the individual cracks in the bark. She gripped the wood with her hands.

Mark attempted to protest again, but Fionn put a light Silence sigil on him - similar to the one that had stopped Finnegan, but lighter so that it only silenced Mark's voice.

"This is your punishment for your error, Mark Blackthorn," Fionn said sadly. "This is your punishment for making a mistake when you have a loving family who wish to take your pain away." Fionn moved to stand behind Emma. "Shall I resume the count or restart?"

"Begin anew," Iarlath said. His smile was cruel. His eyes gleamed with a sadistic shine.

"Good luck, Emma Carstairs." His whip whistled as he raised his arm back.

Emma closed her eyes and braced herself. In the darkness behind her eyelids, she saw Julian, and fire around him. Fire in the chambers of the Silent City. She heard his voice whisper the words, those old words from the Bible, taken and remade by Shadowhunters to form the parabatai oath. Fionn could almost hear her whisper the words as the whip came down.

'_Whither thou goest, I will go_-'

"One." If Emma had thought she felt pain before, it was agony now. Her back felt as if it were being opened up by fire. She ground her teeth together to silence her scream.

'_Entreat me not to leave thee-_'

"Two." Again. The pain was worse this time. Her fingers bit into the wood of the tree.

'_Or to return from following after thee-_'

"Three." Again. She slid to her knees.

'_The Angel do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me._'

"Four." Again. The pain rose up like a wave, blotting out the sun. She screamed, but she couldn't hear herself - her ears were stoppered, the world crumpling, folding in on itself.

"Five." "Six." "Seven."

Emma barely felt it anymore as the darkness began to swallow her.

"Awaken." Fionn enchanted his whip with a spell and Emma was knocked awake by the next strike.

Something like Julian being knocked out was not allowed for his punishment, but passing out from pain was also not allowed. Even if they were only half-conscious, they needed to be aware of every strike.

Emma's screams came out unconsciously. She didn't even hear herself anymore. Fionn tried to aim his strikes as to not hit her already-opened wounds. It wasn't much better, but striking an open wound hurt even more. Wolf had once said that the human analogy was 'rubbing salt into the wound' - which Fionn knew enough about to understand how painful that could be. Having once taken a hundred whiplashes, he knew what it was like to be trapped in a half-conscious state of pain for what felt like an eternity.

By the time he had hit twenty, Fionn wondered if Emma would one day regret this. Probably not. She was stubborn like that.

"Our business is concluded here," Iarlath said.

"Then leave," Fionn growled. His voice came out more hostile than he'd intended. "Your business is done here."

"But yours is not, Fionn Flann. You still have a job to do. I eagerly await your return to the Court."

Fionn shook his whip free of blood. He, along with Gwyn, Kieran, and Selina watched Iarlath retreat to his steed. No one spoke or moved until Iarlath had disappeared, a mere speck in the distance.

Finally, Gwyn released Mark, who rushed over to Julian first, shoving Kieran out of the way. He took Julian's stele and started drawing healing runes with a shaking, unpracticed hand of someone long unused to the language of angels. Fionn walked over and retrieved Emma's stele. He carefully turned her so that he could draw an Iratze on her chest. He remembered something about runes being more powerful the closer they were to the heart. His rune blazed with the red of lava, and her wounds visibly started to heal. Though she was still covered in fresh blood, the smell mixing with the salt of the ocean air, she had stopped bleeding out more. The lightest parts of her wounds were closed, but the deepest parts were still raw. His rune was still very powerful, and it continued to heal her slowly but surely.

When Mark had managed to wake Julian, his expression was a combination of murderous and terrified as he rushed over to Emma. Fionn let Julian take her without a word, returning her shirt to her blood-soaked form and then scooping her into his arms, heedless of the blood that he got onto himself in the process. Mark took up Cortana and followed Julian as he rushed to the doors of the Institute. Selina opened the doors and let them pass.

Kieran had tried to stop Mark, had put his hand on his arm. His face had been bleached and pleading, his hair a riot of black and despairing blue.

Mark had shaken off his grip. "Touch me again with our hand and you will see it parted from your wrist forever," he snarled. Gwyn had pulled Kieran away from him, speaking to him in a voice that was equal parts sternness and regret.

"Let him be, Kieran. Enough has been done here this day."

"Please tell them, Selina," Fionn urged. "Please tell them all to forgive."

Selina asked the question that hung in the air. "Forgive who?"

Fionn shook his head. "Everyone. Everything. In order to go on, they must one day forgive."

Selina tended to her parabatai, still in possession of the vial that Fionn had given her. She looked up at Fionn's eyes, like fragments of the glass inside a kaleidoscope, shattered and polychromatic. His eyes met the identical eyes of his brother, a silent message passing between the two of them. They nodded in sync.

Fionn turned back to Selina. "Take care of Finnegan."

"And where are _you_ going?"

"I would admire the opportunity to plead my case, however there are more pressing matters at hand. I place my trust within you, lady of the moon."

She nodded. Fionn turned to leave, but he then remembered something and turned to the quickbeam upon which two Shadowhunters and nearly a third had been whipped. He pointed towards it as his hair flared bright as lava. The tree was set ablaze.

Kieran and Fionn regrouped with Gwyn, who muttered, "It is best if I do not know the details." They mounted their steeds and rode off.

Selina carried Finnegan into the Institute.

* * *

_Finnegan was dreaming of a woman._

_"This is brilliant! I'll make the arrangements with haste! Should we go on a dating period? That would make things look more convincing, wouldn't it?"_

_He glanced at Fionn, who looked just as confused as Finnegan felt._

_Finnegan was being hugged by the woman. "Aslaug-! I can't…breathe!"_

_"Release my lover before he perishes!"_

_Finnegan was abruptly released. "Don't be so stiff, Fionn. I'm not going to steal him away. But now we're officially related. So, husband-in-law, how about we go celebrate?!"_

_"Never call me that again."_

_"Too bad!"_

_Finnegan was speaking with a white-haired man. He looked human, but his soft pink eyes and almost ethereal nature suggested otherwise._

_"You worry he hides truth from you?"_

_"I don't know. No. I mean…no."_

_"You sound unconvinced." Blunt. Probably fey to some degree._

_"He can't lie."_

_"You know very well he can lie in everything but words. Yet still you love him. I care for him as well. This complication must be resolved."_

_"Yeah, but how?"_

_"You must speak of the issues and resolve them."_

_Finnegan rolled his eyes. "Ugh, you're no help!"_

_Finnegan was standing at the seaside above a dangerous cliff. He was standing behind that woman. Her orange hair reminded Finn of his sister Merida. But this wasn't his sister. She was far older - far _taller_._

_"Are you okay?" he asked._

_"What kind of question is _that?_" she snapped._

_"Right, stupid question." He sighed, kicking the grass beneath him. "Aysel's worried about you. I mean, I'd be worried about you flinging yourself off this cliff, but it'd take more than _that_ to kill you. Anyway-"_

_"You're rambling."_

_"Of course I'm rambling! How else am I supposed to…to…?" He gesticulated wildly trying to make some semblance of a point. "Mmm!" he exclaimed, as though that somehow translated his entire mind into one statement._

_She actually chuckled. He could see her sad eyes slowly warming up. Or maybe that was the shimmering of tears welling up behind her eyes that she refused to let free. "We should head back and make sure she doesn't give Fionn and Kuria panic attacks."_

_"Can Kuria even _have_ panic attacks?"_

_"Let's not find out, shall we?"_

_"_**_I'm sorry, Finnegan._**_"_

_"_**_Mom?_**_"_

_"_**_It won't get any easier from here. Remember, above all else, you must forgive._**_"_

_"You doing okay?"_

_Finnegan was standing in a field. The dark sky danced with stars and a bright moon illuminated the world. Standing in front of him under a spotlight of the moon's shimmer was Selina._

_"What's happening?"_

_"I'm just here to send a message." She closed her eyes and faded into the moonlight._

_From behind where Selina had been came Fionn, walking through the grass and burning it down to ashes._

_"Fionn!"_

_Flashes came back to him. Gwyn, Iarlath, and Kieran. The blood-red quickbeam. It all happened so fast. '_Fionn, how could you?_'_

_"I have little time, my Hunter."_

_Finnegan felt like he could barely breathe. This _was_ just a dream, so he should be fine. When he managed to gain enough control over himself, he slapped the faerie hard across the face._

_"How dare you?! How _could_ you?! How-?!"_

_Fionn caught the Shadowhunter's hand with a fierce grip. "As I said, we've little time. You must tell the others. Forgive. Please. If not me, then my brother. Protect him if I am unable."_

_"Fionn…? What does that mean? What's happening?!"_

_Fionn released Finnegan's wrist and he let it drop to his side. Fionn cupped Finnegan's face with a stern expression. "Tell me you love me."_

_"What? Fionn-"_

_Fionn's face fell. In one moment he'd gone from almost intimidating to open and exposed like it was _he_ who had been whipped. His mismatched eyes returned to the faerie that Finnegan had always seen: eyes that were so sad and broken and barely holding up the barriers around him. "Do you love me, even after everything that I have and will do?"_

_"Of course I do. I won't ever stop."_

_"I need to hear it."_

_"I love you. Now please tell me what this is all about. You aren't hurt, are you?"_

_"In naught but the mind, my love. I love you as I love no other. I always will. Now please, smile. There was once a time when a smile upon you was so scarce, I feared you had forgotten the meaning of happiness as I once had."_

_Finnegan tried to take a deep breath and calm his nerves. Right. Smiling was important during tough times. Fionn had to do something terrible, and he was worried that things would only get worse. _Finnegan_ was worried things would only grow worse. He needed to calm himself. Whatever came his way, he would handle it. Fionn had made him stronger, all of his friends had. He couldn't break down every time the world didn't go his way._

_He mustered up a smile, gazing at the multicolored eyes that he had always loved, even when others found them disturbing. He thought about Fionn's many attempts at acting human, about wearing Finnegan's clothes, learning about runes and music, and that one time he'd taken a picture of himself with a polaroid camera, the flash right in his face that blinded him._

_"There. Beautiful." Fionn caressed his face. "Our parting is not ideal. The abrupt nature disturbs me greatly, however life is not so kind as to always give warning. I must trust you and I and all we love shall be strong enough."_

_"Fionn-"_

_"We will meet again, as we always do."_

_Before Finnegan could protest, Fionn stole his breath with a kiss. Fionn's lips were soft even in a dream, his kiss was the same one that made Finnegan's mind melt. If he had actually been standing, he might've collapsed into Fionn's grasp - but the faerie would always catch him. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Fionn and never let him go again. He tasted the bittersweet smoke and honey from the faerie's lips that somehow always lingered on him regardless of whether they were awake or in a dream._

_"Forgive…" Fionn whispered._

_He stepped away from Finnegan. Finn wanted to open his eyes, but for some reason he couldn't. He hated it when in his dreams he closed his eyes and couldn't recall what he'd been dreaming about. He could feel as Fionn turned and walked away, even if he couldn't see it. The dream world melted away around him, and he was floating._

_Standing in the darkness, he swore he saw Fionn consumed by a familiar dark energy. Finnegan tried to scrounge through his memories to remember where he'd seen that before. Fionn walked into it willingly, and he looked back with regret._

_Finnegan was lying on his back in a soft bed. Fionn's voice whispered in his mind._

'_Forgive me_.'

-**_TTOT_**-

"Fionn!"

"Finn…"

Finnegan snapped awake, feeling like he'd been punched in the chest. "Ack! By the angel-!"

"Easy, does it." Selina handed him a glass of water, helping support his trembling hand with her own. Her icy blonde hair fell across her shoulder and tickled his arm. "Drink. You were put under a heavy spell. Fionn may not be that good at magic, but he certainly knows how to use his limited resources. That was a powerful sigil, something that only Astrals can properly wield - or something close to them, anyway. Mortals _can_, but only under the right circumstances. Most get burnt up upon trying to use those. I worry, considering he's got such limited magic reserves. He could've hurt you both."

Finnegan let the cool water flow down his throat. "What happened?"

"You threatened to use Fionn's true name against him, Finn. Even Astrals find that subject dodgy. I get that you were upset at him and you wanted to make sure that the Blackthorns didn't have to take this burden, but…well I understand why he knocked you out."

Selina explained what happened after Finnegan was KO'ed.

Finn held his head. "Mael, this is gonna be a hard one to work through."

"Fionn left with Kieran. I think they're plotting something. Not sure what. Seline won't tell me anything. Rightfully so, but still. I'm worried. I have a bad feeling."

"They're angry at Kieran, aren't they? And Fionn? They probably won't trust them again."

"They're…very upset, yes. Mark feels betrayed, and the others have wanted an excuse to push him away from Faerie - whether they realize it or not. Kieran may be a faerie, but he's no older than Mark. He's still a child. Fionn's been trying to protect him from the world so hard, but…Kieran's been sheltered, and he has one thing in his life that he has loved of his own accord - someone who loved him even knowing what he was. Mark and Kieran…they were both good and bad for each other. It's a tragedy that something like this had to happen, but admittedly, it could've been far worse."

Finnegan sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "I should talk to them. They aren't able to defend themselves, but maybe I can at least mitigate the damage."

Selina nodded. "Emma woke up not long ago. She's with Julian now. We can at least talk to Mark."

"I'll talk to him."

Finnegan sought out Mark, who was staring out the window looking down at the sea.

"Let me start with 'I'm sorry.'"

"You trusted your loved one, as I did with mine. We are guilty of the same crime."

"It's not a crime to love someone, Mark. Kieran _did_ love you. You gotta remember what position he's coming from. He was afraid of losing you, Mark. The only one he had who had loved him because you chose to. I don't know what your situation was like, but if nothing else, you had a strong friendship in a harsh environment - and that's more than _I'd_ ever expect if I were you."

"How should I feel?" he wondered aloud. "Emma made a bargain, a bargain to forgive. Why would Fionn request such a thing?"

"Because holding a grudge is a fatal flaw. In Greek mythology, I think. He told _me_ to forgive as well. I think a lot of problems in this world come from a lack of forgiveness. Wars rage because people refuse it, and they are only ended because people must accept it. They are your enemies, or so you declared, I was told. But…I just wanna be the one to ask you to forgive them. I saw Kieran, I saw how much he loved you. He acted with haste and hatred and fear of losing you, but he's a kid. He's a bit of a spoiled prince, and he's barely older than _you_."

"I am mature enough to…" Mark paused mid-sentence.

Finnegan felt a small smirk tug at his lips. "Hate them all you want, Mark. But don't let your anger cause you to make terrible decisions. Forgive, but don't forget. That's all I ask. Wrath kills even the mightiest, and trying to protect others at your own expense may only end up hurting them - as you…saw today. We can't avoid suffering in this world, and learning from our mistakes is how we grow - both doing harm and taking it when we shouldn't."

Mark stared pensively at the window. "I cannot forgive them so easily. I will not."

Finnegan sighed. "I know. I wouldn't forgive instantly either. I'm not saying you should. Just warning you not to let your anger rule you. If you do, even more people will get hurt. Congratulations, Mark. You found something to push you. This game of tug-of-war is nearly won."

Mark turned and glanced at Finnegan, but he stepped towards the window and gazed at the ocean where Mark had been staring. He was already moving on.

"Iarlath had something on Fionn - I'd bet my knives on it. If he didn't, Fionn would've never agreed to whip anyone in the first place. Especially if it involves Kieran - and by extension _you_ \- he would rather take the punishment himself for not acting or acting in the wrong way. I'd imagine he'd have outright threatened Iarlath until the guy actually backed down. He can be stubborn when it comes to his loved ones. Guess I really can't berate your family for being so self-sacrificing when I'm looking at my _own_ loved ones." Mark snorted. Finnegan almost sensed a hint of fondness creeping in. "He came to me one day saying he'd taken 60 whiplashes for himself and you and I almost killed him if he weren't already half-dead himself."

"Yes, his stubborn nature is on full display."

"Which is why I'm worried. Julian and Emma were willing to take a whipping for you because they loved you so much. What could Fionn get himself into if it meant making amends?"

Mark stared at Finnegan, but before he could respond, Selina called from down the hall. "Finn! A call for you from Mer."

Finnegan jumped. "Sorry, gotta take this."

Mark bowed his head lightly. "Take your leave as you may."

He hurried off, taking the phone from Selina. "Merida?"

"_Finn! Glad I got through. I got an update from Aaron about finding Diego. And yes, he's going to be doing all the paperwork for this. Aaron's heading your way soon. I've given them both permission to pursue the Malcolm case since you've confirmed - well, more like I've given Diego permission to finish up there so long as Aaron is keeping an eye on him. I have been informed he bought poisoned weapons from the Shadow Market without checking to see if they were _poisoned_ and then nearly killed another Shadowhunter because he didn't fact-check if they were even part of the Shadow World, mundanes, or if there was any way to subdue rather than kill-_" She cleared her throat, and Finnegan could see her taking a few deep breaths.

"I'll keep an eye out for Aaron."

"_What? No jokes about him being my boyfriend? That's odd of you. Not that I'm disappointed or anything, but you sound off._"

Finnegan thought back to how Aaron had been a completely different person than he'd known - an Astral, of all things. He didn't know the full extent of who Aaron really was, but he certainly saw him in a new light.

"I - oh, I see him. Gotta go, bye."

Finnegan hung up. In front of him, Aaron had appeared in one of his revolving card portals, looking solemn.

"What's up?" Selina asked.

"A lot of things. The ceiling, the sky, space. You know what's _not_ up? Our luck! Because-"

The building exploded. A bolt of black light flashed through the whole area. The wound of a shattering skylight rang out from the library, along with the sound of falling debris. The whole Institute seemed to rock back and forth. After a few full seconds of destruction that felt like an eternity, the quakes finally stopped. Finnegan felt sick, maybe a bit motion sick, but it was something else. It reminded him of that one time he'd had to shut off some mundane technology that limited Downworlder powers.

Selina and Aaron had completely fallen from their feet and looked like they were about to throw up.

"How disgusting," Aaron muttered. "Black enchantments, dark magic."

"No kidding," Selina muttered. She sounded short of breath. "A dampener. Preventing communications."

"A signal."

"The others!"

"Library!"

Finnegan helped them both to their feet and they rushed to the library. Ty and Livvy dashed past them out of the library. They explained rapidly about how they'd figured out Malcolm was the Guardian, how Dru had returned leaving Tavvy with Malcolm before she'd known, how Malcolm had given a letter to Julian, and how once it had been read it had exploded. Julian declared that they needed the Clave's help, damn the consequences, if Tavvy was in danger. Phones weren't working.

"We're going to check the computer and the landline phone," Ty announced. He looked like he had a nasty cut on the back of his leg, but he was trying to not make a big deal about it.

They dashed away before Selina could protest.

Aaron dashed through the library doors with Finnegan and Selina behind him. Just as they did, Mark darted up the oculus - which had become a ring of jagged glass, open to the night sky. A pale face flashed within the circle before Mark raced up the curving ramp and then threw himself at the oculus. There was a thrashing blur of movement and he tumbled back onto the ramp, his hand gripping the collar of a lean figure with dark hair. Mark was shouting; there was broken glass around them as they struggled. They rolled together down the ramp, hitting out at each other, until they fetched up on the library floor.

The dark-haired figure was a slender boy in ragged, bloody clothes; he had gone limp. Mark knelt on top of him, and as he reached for a dagger and it flashed out gold, they realized that the intruder was Kieran.

Mark jammed his knife up against Kieran's throat. Kieran stiffened against the knife. "I should kill you right here," Mark said through his teeth. "I should cut your throat."

Dru made a small sound. Diego reached out and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Kieran bared his teeth - and then his throat, tipping his head back. "Go ahead. Kill me."

"Where's Fionn?" Finnegan realized. "He left with you, where _is_ he, dammit?!"

Kieran's eyes moved to Finnegan without his head following. There was a moment of sympathy in his gaze. "My apologies."

"Why are you here?" Mark's breath hitched.

Julian took a step towards them, his hand at his hip, on the hilt of a throwing knife. He could take Kieran out from that distance. And he would, if Mark seemed in danger. Finnegan put his hand to the seraph violin on his back - not to attack, but to diffuse the situation if necessary.

Mark was gripping his knife; his hand was steady, but his face was anguished. "Why are you here?" he said again. "Why would you come to this place where you know that you're hated? Why do you want to _make me kill you?_"

"Mark," Kieran muttered. He reached up, clenched his hand in Mark's sleeve. His face was full of yearning; the hair that fell over his forehead was streaked with dark blue. "Mark _please_."

Mark shook his arm out of Kieran's grip. "I could forgive you if it was me you whipped. But you touched the ones I love; that I cannot forgive. You should bleed as Emma bled."

"Don't…Mark…" Emma was alarmed, not for Kieran - some part of her would have liked to see him bleed - but for Mark. For what hurting, even killing, Kieran would do to him.

"I came to help you," Kieran said.

Mark gave a hollow laugh. "Your _help_ is not wanted here."

"I know about Malcolm Fade," Kieran gasped. "I know he took your brother. He took my brother as well." Julian made a guttural noise. Mark's hand, on the knife, went bloodless.

"Release him, Mark," Finnegan ordered.

Mark hesitated.

"Let him go, Mark," Julian agreed. "If he knows anything about Tavvy - we have to find out what it is. Let him go."

"Mark," Cristina said softly.

With a violent gesture, Mark flung himself off Kieran and stood up, backing away until he was nearly beside Julian. Julian, whose grip on his own knife looked agonizingly tight.

Finnegan rushed over, ignoring the looks he was getting, and helped Kieran rise to his feet. "What happened to Fionn?"

Kieran looked at Finnegan with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. "You are an odd one, Finnegan Scion."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said humorlessly.

He was a far cry from the arrogant gentry warrior who Finnegan had seen in the Sanctuary. His shirt and loose trousers were blood-stained and torn, his face bruised. Some of it could've been from the scuffle with Mark, but certainly not all of it. He'd gotten into a fight, and Fionn was likely involved. He did not cower or look frightened, but that seemed less an act of bravery than almost one of hopelessness. Everything about him, from the way he was dressed to the way he stood to the way he looked at Mark, said that here was someone who did not care what became of him.

The door of the library burst open and Ty and Livvy spilled in. "Everything's locked out," Livvy exclaimed. "All the phones, the computer, even the radios-"

She broke off, staring, as she took in the scene in front of her: Kieran and Finnegan facing the other occupants of the room.

Kieran gave a tiny bow. "I am Kieran of the Wild Hunt."

Finnegan smiled at the courtesy during these times. Such a thing that Fionn would do.

"One of the faerie convoy?" Livvy looked from Mark to Julian. "One of the ones who whipped Emma?"

Julian nodded.

Ty looked at Mark, and then the others. His face was pale and cold. "Why is he still alive?"

"Because I will not let you kill him," Finnegan announced. "Torture, perhaps, for being an _idiot_, but we need information out of him."

Julian flung his dagger. It flew past Kieran's head, close enough to graze his hair, and embedded itself in the frame of the window behind him. "You will tell us now," he said in a deadly quiet voice, "everything you know about where Octavian is, what's going on, and how we can get him back. Or I will spill your blood on the floor of this library. I've spilled faerie blood before. Don't think I won't do it again. There are ways to make you suffer without killing you."

Kieran didn't drop his eyes. "There is no need to threaten me, though if it pleases you, do it; it makes no difference to me. I came to tell you what you want to know. That is why I am here. The black light you just saw was faerie magic. It was meant to knock out all communication, so that you could not call for help from the Clave or Conclave. So that you would not seek help or save your brother."

"We could try to find a pay phone," Livvy said uncertainly, "or a restaurant phone, down on the highway-"

"You will discover that phone lines have been knocked out for several kilometers," Kieran said. There was urgency in his voice. "I beg you not to waste time. Fade has taken your brother, already, to the ley line convergence. It is the place where he performs his sacrifices. The place he plans to have my brother kill yours. If you wish to rescue the boy, you must take up your weapons and go after him now."

"What do you mean your brother will kill Tavvy?" Finnegan snapped.

"The ritual that Fade must perform - the final Blackthorn must be killed by a powerful dark magic." Kieran's eyes narrowed. "Fionn has a blade - I can only assume you are familiar - filled with countless deaths built upon a black curse he bestowed long ago."

"That dark knife that makes people go insane and can absorb them when he kills them," Finnegan recalled.

Kieran nodded. "I knew not of how he acquired such a weapon, and he would not disclose the information no matter how I begged. Eventually I let the topic go." He lowered his gaze. "I now know." He glanced back up to Finnegan, though he was addressing the room. "Suffice to say, that weapon will ensure Fade's success - however it will only work if Fionn himself does the deed. He will resist and give you time, but Fade has threatened him with information I know naught about beyond Fionn's fear of it. If Fionn submits, the young Blackthorn shall be lost."

"And if he manages to resist?" Finegan asked. It was entirely possible that Kieran had no idea, but Kieran readily responded.

"Fade does not require Fionn's assistance - he merely desires the greatest odds while he is in a position of power. His ritual could very well go awry if he rushes and does not take every precaution, but should my brother prove uncooperative, Octavian's blood shall still suffice, and Fionn may need not be the one to wield the weapon directly for its desired effect. I bid you make haste and prepare yourselves properly. My brother and I, perhaps our lives are forfeit, but for Mark's sake, I wish you would make your family whole if mine cannot be."

* * *

**Chapter title: '_I Against Me_' by Anna Blue**

**It's an awesome song tho. Like, I recommend it. I wanted to make the entire song the chapter title if I could.**


	19. We're Torn, Torn, Torn Apart

***_Says I've got the next chapter ready and just needs to edit it_***

***_Doesn't post it soon and instead finishes the rest of the story and starts on the next installment_***

**I finally got to the point that I wanted to. And also binged through the Mortal Instruments, Infernal Devices, and a couple of the in-between books to get back into the mindset of this world.**

**I will probably be churning out chapters - and this time I intend to actually make good on my word. All I need to do is go through them one more time for some quick edits and then, the dreaded chapter-naming sessions.**

**A lot of these have become expositional as I explain the information that I have been hinting at and foreshadowing until now, and it _can_ get a bit expositional, but after reading more of Cassandra Clare's work, I feel reassured that I'm not the only one who rambles on and on sometimes. A lot of the time. Really big paragraphs. Woot.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Fionn had never been so happy to hold someone at knifepoint.

"_Aon. Dhà. Trì. Ceithir. Còig. Sia. Seachd. Ochd. Naoi._" Fionn counted to a light tune - simply counting up with a slowly rising pitch and then reversing back down. "_Naoi. Ochd. Seachd. Sia. Còig. Ceithir. Trì. Dhà. Aon._"

It took very little for Fionn and Kieran to get Iarlath to crack. A combination of Fionn's knife, his magic, and his interrogation skills got information out of Iarlath very quickly. Fionn's taunting only added insult to injury - which he fully knew and enjoyed.

Keeping Mark with the Blackthorns prevented them from contacting the Clave for aid, Malcolm had been guiding the Followers as their secret Guardian, and Iarlath had been involved with Malcolm for a long time. Plenty of basic information on the case, how interesting. Fionn was at least glad to get the information, and maybe the Blackthorns would care about it, but what Fionn _really_ cared about-

"Malcolm was the one who took from me an entire decade of my life," Fionn hissed. "Is it not true?"

Iarlath's face crinkled in what Fionn assumed was annoyance, but with his tree-like bark face it was difficult to discern his levels of unamused. "Perhaps, in passing, the warlock proclaimed to have 'reprogrammed' Dearil. She grew too difficult to control, and so Malcolm performed a powerful spell that erased her very existence from the world for aught a decade, yes. At your father's behest, of course."

Fionn frowned. "You have heard the whisperings of my father's Court, and so you must know a great deal about his plans for me and the Shadowhunter. You will tell me all you know, and then you will join the many within this cursed blade."

Iarlath smiled with the regular insanity of the weapon's power seeping into his system. "Oh, I look forward to it, Kingson. And when your time comes, I shall be among the many to torture you for your crimes."

Kieran's eyes narrowed and he held up his weapon to the crook of Iarlath's chin even as Fionn held his black dagger at the base of Iarlath's neck. "What do you mean?"

Iarlath smiled. "Why, does the child prince not know? No wonder his maturity has been so stagnant - you coddle him more than I anticipated. Will you not even tell him the nature of this weapon you threaten me with?"

Kieran eyed Fionn. His curiosity about the weapon Fionn carried for as long as Kieran could remember lingered. He knew that his brother would go to great lengths to protect Kieran, _cruel_ lengths.

"Fionn?" Kieran asked. His brother would either tell him now, or Iarlath would. Iarlath being touched by the cursed blade made him eager to spill information, no matter how detrimental it would be to him, and if Fionn truly wanted the rest of the information from Iarlath, he would have to let Iarlath continue.

"The blade is enchanted with the curse of a kinslayer!" Iarlath interjected. "For every soul consumed into the blade, you shall be damned for all eternity upon your _own_ death to be tormented by each and every one! Only one weapon can truly fell Fionn Flann Kingson, and only the blood of the kin he has wronged!" Iarlath broke out into the unstable giggling that came from Fionn's victims losing their sanity, bit by bit. "Will you delay the inevitable, Kingson? How long will you flee from the punishment of your crimes? I can hardly _wait_ for the day you are consumed by your sins - so yes, kill me with that wretched blade and grant me the privilege of tormenting your soul for all eternity!" Iarlath's voice dropped to a low, raspy, menacing whisper, while his eyes were blown wide with ecstasy. "And what did you do it all _for…?_ To raise your idiot brother into a man? Well it seems you _failed_, Kingson. Poor little Kieran - unloved, incapable of love. You have taught him your selfishness, you have taught him to destroy all he holds dear, and you have taught him to beg pathetically in vain while all he loves is annihilated by his own follies. You have raised the boy to be capable of only sorrow - you have raised him to follow in your footsteps. Despite all your efforts, he is doomed the same as you-"

Fionn had been fully ready to kill Iarlath then and there, but he was abruptly extracted from his captive and thrown away by Kieran. For a moment, Fionn wondered if Kieran was freeing Iarlath, but he knew that was irrational. Less than a second later, he realized Kieran's true intentions. Kieran had drawn his dagger and stabbed Iarlath right in the base of his neck, swatting aside Fionn's weapon and killing Iarlath first. Though the single strike would have been enough to have finished off Iarlath beyond repair, Kieran continued impaling Iarlath's dying form as it fell to the grass below. He stabbed his eyes out and slashed his throat and pierced his chest a dozen times.

Fionn had never seen such rage from Kieran. His hair was black as midnight, but with each stab his hair flashed through every shade it could manage. Fionn realized Iarlath had been right - this side of Kieran was all his fault…

"You will not-" Stab "-speak to my brother-" Stab "-in such a manner!" Stab "You know nothing of his sacrifices!" Stab "Do not presume to know my fate!" Stab "You wretch! You will not torment my loved ones any longer!" Stab "You will not torment me-" Stab "-Mark-" Stab "-Fionn-" Stab "-no one else!" Stab "No more!" Stab "No more, no more, no _more!_"

Fionn grabbed Kieran and pulled him off Iarlath. Kieran's hand released his blade easily, and he broke down into tears. Fionn felt his brother's trembling hands and gripped them tightly within his own.

"Mark…I have lost him."

"You have lost his trust at the moment. It will not be easy, but you can make amends if your heart is true."

"Do not leave me as well…"

"You and I have no control over what fate has in store for us. If I am lost, you must make the decision of how to move forward. Whether you seek me out or whether you find the strength to move forward on your own, that choice must be your own. Iarlath was right. I have failed you if I have not taught you to find your own strength. I have not taught you how to accept the consequences of your actions. Too late have I realized what I have done…"

Kieran wiped Iarlath's blood on the grass and then wiped his own eyes, quickly trying to pull himself together. He still had blood splatter across his clothes, hands, and face. Fionn pulled out a cloth from his bag and wiped Kieran as best he could.

"You will be punished for this transgression," Fionn said. "Iarlath was important to the Unseelie Court. I cannot take the blame for what you have done."

Kieran reached out and grabbed his weapon. "I took responsibility for the slaying of Iarlath so that you might not be tormented by his soul. I will face the consequences knowingly. You wish to stop coddling me? Then allow me to face my due recompense."

"You may be killed. I have worked my entire life to prevent your death; I promised our mother I would protect you."

"Is that why you are a kin-slayer? To protect me?"

Fionn stared down at his dark, murky blade. "Yes."

"I might ask who it was - if I didn't already know you will not answer. What Iarlath said…he spoke of the one weapon that can slay you, and the blood of the kin you have wronged…"

"I am functionally immortal except when killed by this blade. It is the curse of my actions. And only my family can use this weapon to absorb my soul into the blade. I will be tortured by every soul that has been absorbed within. That isn't to say that other methods of killing me will not be painful and torturous. In theory, I could be stabbed as many times as Iarlath over there and become close to death. My heart would stop, my veins would empty of my blood. But slowly, torturously, my body _would_ repair itself. My soul will never be allowed to pass on until I have atoned. And the weapon will always return to me, one way or another. It is a boon that allows me to overpower many enchantments and spells, but in return, my penance only grows more dire."

"Is this the reason you survived being plunged within that icy lake?" Kieran realized. "I'd have thought you dead after such an encounter. I nearly beat the man responsible to death in return."

Fionn snorted. "Yes, the dagger will repair anything fatal. Other wounds, however, heal regularly. The curse is meant to be painful, and only helpful in the most dire of circumstances."

"And that time you received over 100 whiplashes!" Kieran went on. "I almost believed you'd be sliced in half by the end of it!"

"I'm a bloody, self-sacrificing fool, yes, moving _on_, Kieran. I believe our relationship has long-since established this."

Kieran couldn't help his smile despite the circumstances. Fionn couldn't hold down the corners of his lips either.

"We were supposed to be talking about something serious, Brother," Fionn reiterated. He cleared his throat and recomposed himself. "I will be killed by my kin, Kieran, there is no escaping that fate. If it has to be anyone, I would prefer it to be you."

Kieran couldn't maintain his happy demeanor at Fionn's words. "You ask me to kill you should the time come." It was not a question. "And if I am unable to?"

"It will be you." Fionn held up the dagger and stared into its reflection. "The sons of the Unseelie King are indeed my kin, but _you_ are my brother from both our father _and_ our mother. It can only be you. I would have it no other way."

Kieran frowned at the weapon, radiating dark magic. The longer he stared, the darker the world seemed to become around him - as though his own life was being consumed by the blade just by gazing at it. "If that is your wish, I will be the one to end your life, Fionn Flann Kingson." He held out his hand.

Fionn moved the dagger so that both of them were clasping the hilt. Kieran felt a thick wave of magic sweep over him from touching it. He had dared to touch his brother's weapon in the past, but now it was different. Fionn was essentially binding _him_ to the dagger as well, saying that only Kieran was allowed to kill him. He trusted Kieran to know when to condemn him for all his crimes - many of which Fionn felt wronged Kieran in particular.

"You are certainly a fool, Fionn. For that, I may condemn you to a long life."

Fionn sighed. "I suppose that's warranted."

Kieran released the dark dagger into Fionn's hand. He was feeling sick just being close to it. He turned to the fallen Iarlath. "What is our next course of action?"

"We get the information Iarlath gave us back to the Blackthorns and Finnegan. Humans can be…emotional, but perhaps one day you will win back Mark Blackthorn's favor."

Kieran mustered a small smile despite how heartbroken it was. "Thank you for your optimism when facing our certain doom."

"I've learned that optimism in the face of inevitable doom is what makes humans so resilient. It's idiotic, but it has contributed to their survival somehow. At the very least, it boosts moral and psychological welfare during grim times." Fionn walked over to Iarlath's body and set it on fire. "These times feel pretty grim. We will likely be hunted by the Unseelie Court if and when they discover what we've done. At the best, they shall torture us for however long we last in incarceration. At worst, torture and execution."

"You may never see your Shadowhunter again, Fionn Flann, should you continue down this path with me. You might perhaps leave me to my punishment without such a burden."

"You may lose your own half-Nephilim as well, Kieran." Fionn waved his hand and caused the flames devouring Iarlath to increase in intensity. "I may not meet him again in this life. But perhaps in the next. As it always is. Meanwhile, you must live to win Mark Blackthorn's heart back before you can yet mourn eternal parting. I will ensure your success so long as I live."

Kieran sighed. "We are currently under Gwyn's jurisdiction…"

"I _do_ hate to drag him into this. He may be punished simply for failing to properly restrain our foolish actions."

"We will deal with the consequences of our actions," Kieran reminded him.

Fionn snorted. "Yes. We'll head for the Institute and deal with the Malcolm situation-"

"You called?" A ring of violet fire lit around the brothers, who took up a defensive stance, back-to-back. "Mm-mm-mm. Looks like I've caught some naughty little faeries."

Fionn summoned his Io sword and charged through the flames the moment he found Malcolm's location. He found himself caught by a powerful binding spell mid-flight, but at least he confirmed that Malcolm's enchanted flames weren't enough to harm him. He reached behind him and drew his cursed dagger and pressed down against the warlock's binding magic. Like cutting through clay, there was a slight bit of resistance but he managed to slice right through.

Malcolm evaded his initial hit and sent a blast of ice energy towards Fionn, but the faerie rolled out of the way and charged, flicking his sword into the Io's yo-yo form and launching it at Malcolm. The warlock flicked his sword up and summoned an ice barrier. The Io chipped the ice, but it was still strong enough to block Fionn from charging and forcing him to divert his path. Malcolm blasted the grass and caused it to freeze over and then transform into ice.

Fionn had sparred with Veon before for the sake of learning how to fight warlocks, so at least he wasn't completely caught off guard, but he was forced to roll as his foot slipped and the frost radiating off the ice burned his exposed skin even with just a few seconds of contact. Fionn dived behind a tree for cover, but he knew that holding still with a warlock attacking wouldn't do anything but make him a target.

He threw his Io up and pulled himself up and away. He swung around and threw a second Io yo-yo towards Malcolm. The warlock dodged, but grabbed Fionn's Io and gripped it with his magic. Planting his feet and tugging with his magic assisting, Fionn was ripped away with enough force that the branch he was swinging from snapped. Fionn tumbled on the ground trying to regain his bearings, but he was quickly pinned down by magic restraints once more. His dagger had fallen from his person and he couldn't move his arms or legs to reach it anyway.

"Well, I suppose I applaud you for putting up a fight."

Fionn tried summoning his own magic to break free. He drew an explosion rune with his finger, knowing the heat wouldn't bother him. It was old, powerful magic, but it worked. He rarely resorted to it, but he still remembered the countless years of training that had burned the spells and Faerie runes into his muscles and bones. He focused the sigil on his restraints and blasted it with all he could. Fionn was released, but he fell into the icy grass and hissed as his skin was burnt with frostbite.

"Ah, ah, ah, I would be careful with that firepower of yours. You may be flameproof, but your brother is not."

Fionn rolled into the normal grass, his skin already peeling. The ring of violet flames that had encircled the two of them initially had closed in around Kieran, thick enough that Kieran couldn't jump through the flames in a single leap. Fionn could already see that Kieran was being burnt and Malcolm's ring of flames, and all Malcolm had to do was follow Kieran rather than Fionn and his brother would quickly be overwhelmed.

"Stop! Cease this conflict. What do you want?" Fionn pulled himself to his feet, trying to heal himself as subtly as possible.

Malcolm smiled, a suave man despite the scuffle. "I'm sure you're already aware of my intentions."

"Reviving Annabel Blackthorn through forbidden magic."

"Precisely."

"You need Blackthorn blood to complete your ritual."

"And I have it. While all of the Blackthorns would have been easy to obtain, Octavian Blackthorn was the easiest to isolate and capture without a fuss."

Fionn glared at the warlock. Octavian Blackthorn was the youngest of the siblings, just a small child…

Fionn inhaled through his nose and steadied his breathing. Rescuing the Blackthorn child would certainly help in winning back the Blackthorns' trust - even if it wouldn't make up for what happened because humans didn't let go of grudges that easily. Fionn knew that he was at a disadvantage with Kieran here, and he had no idea how much Malcolm knew about his curse and its immunity to death. If Malcolm targeted Kieran instead of him, then Fionn would give away that Kieran was far more vulnerable. There was only so much Fionn could do against a warlock single-handedly; he needed to maintain every advantage he could manage.

"And so you have what you need. Why are you here? Did you truly care about Iarlath _that_ much?"

Malcolm shrugged casually at the death of his partner. "He was very useful, I admit, but I have everything in place for my spell. All I care about at the moment is returning my love back to life. Iarlath played his part and stalled for the remaining time needed for me to locate the final ingredient I need." He sauntered through the frosty grass and reached down to grab Fionn's cursed dagger. "This blade is enchanted with properties that allow for a great deal of dark magic. Look at how many souls it's already absorbed."

"You cannot wield it."

"I cannot use it for its intended purpose, it's true. That is - killing you. But a blade like this…it has other uses while it waits for you to be consumed. Once you're killed by the dagger, it'll lose all it's dark properties - letting you have your eternal punishment and balancing the world for your crimes and such. But _until_ then, this weapon can break the rules in many different ways, for better or worse. And when it kills someone, it adds a little kick, doesn't it?"

"They are absorbed into the blade's curse."

"And the curse grows ever stronger. And _you_ can use it as you please - until you're killed by it, of course."

Fionn's eyes narrowed. "You wish for me to do something for you?"

"You will finish the spell, the revival of my dear Annabel, and you will make sure I am properly reunited with my love without any interference. This blade will be used for the final sacrifice, and the energies will make sure the spell is absolute."

"And your reasons for why I would do such a thing when that would require the sacrifice of a child?"

"Oh, you care about a Nephilim child now, do you? Considering what you did to curse this blade in the first place, your moral standards do confound me."

"He already held animosity towards a great deal of our family," Kieran muttered.

Malcolm broke out into a smile. "There seem to be a lot of things you don't know about your dear _brother_. Do you even know about his deal?"

Kieran's face was not suspicious, though he did seem confused. "My brother has made many deals throughout his life."

"I refer to the one where he became a man. Did you really not tell him this _basic_ information? How has it not come up? Granted, he was a mere infant at the time, but I assumed it would come up."

"I made a deal with a demon, it's in the past," Fionn dismissed.

"You were a _woman_ and you made a deal that is constantly eating away at your life force in order to become a man. That combined with your curse here-" He tossed the dagger up and flipped it before catching the hilt again "-just builds _so_ many burdens upon your shoulders. How long has it been since Zytaveon last gave you a dose to help stave off death? Well, the closest thing to death you can come to, anyway."

"My brother's personal affairs are none of your concern," Kieran hissed. "His sex is hardly a burden to be ashamed of. You will go nowhere in blackmailing him with information so asinine."

Fionn supposed he should feel relieved that his brother hadn't reacted to the knowledge negatively, but he had a feeling that Kieran would be asking for the details later. Fionn wasn't sure if he was eager to explain, or if he were dreading it.

"Oh, but I'm just getting _started!_" Malcolm exclaimed. "Shall we go into the years I took from you? Valaeyasha nearly discovered them, but I suppose that's to be expected. How many years was it? A decade? 11 years?"

"You were working with my father, the warlock who stole my memories," Fionn stated. There was not a question in his voice. "All I had been told was that a warlock had stolen me from the Court and corrupted me in an attempt to doom my father's lands. My memory had to be reset in order to destroy the corruption. The incident did not affect me going forward." Fionn stared at Malcolm, his brow furrowing in pensive thought. "No one paid the incident any mind. Because no one remembered…your spell did a world-wide wiping of me during those years. _That's_ why no one ever mentioned it, why no one remembered anything about me being taken and corrupted - whatever that refers to."

He twisted the knife in his fingers. "Yes, such a powerful, advanced memory wipe could only be accomplished through a great deal of power. Valaeyasha was needed for such a thing - an advanced memory-demon warlock. All worked out in the end, as she herself didn't remember doing the deed as a consequence of the spell which I easily hijacked."

"Why…? What did I do?"

"Well maybe you'll find out one day. Suffice to say you became a _bit_ of a pain to your father and the Unseelie Court. You could've been called a kin slayer even _before_ you got this blade cursed." He held up the dagger. "But of course, this here is your worst crime, isn't it? Having a brother killed is _one_ thing, but-"

"Silence!" Fionn snapped forward and snatched Malcolm's wrist, the warlock holding the dagger tightly so as to not drop it. "You've no right to judge my actions! You would go this far for the one you love, so do not patronize me for choosing to save an innocent's life!"

"Perhaps one innocent for another is not something _I_ should be the judge of." Malcolm charged a spell with his other hand, which Fionn promptly grabbed his wrist to aim it upwards. Malcolm kneed him in the stomach and Fionn was easily thrown back. "But perhaps your dear brother should know of the event that defined his life - a choice taken from him while he was merely a child."

"Fionn…?" Kieran asked weakly.

"Shall I tell him, kin-slayer, or do _you_ wish to?"

Fionn held his abdomen and winced as he sat up. Malcolm snapped and the flames ensnaring his brother flickered out. Kieran glanced at the warlock warily before rushing to his brother's aid.

"Fionn-"

"Tell him, Kingson," Malcolm prompted. "Tell the boy who will be your demise exactly _why_ he is the only one who can kill you and continue the cycle of vengeance."

"No," Fionn grunted. He pushed himself to rise without his brother's help. "I will tell him when the time is right. I will tell him of my _own_ accord. I will tell him when I am ready to die. But right now, there are people who need my help - and a mad warlock that needs to be stopped."

Malcolm's frown was disappointed, but he clearly did not seem perturbed. "Oh well. I had hoped you would come willingly. After all, I _did_ offer you answers - a chance to clear the air all by yourself. Burdened by so many secrets, all I wanted to do was help you heal yourself from within." Based on Malcolm's condescending tone, that was not at all what he had intended. "But I will get what I need from you. It's only a matter of time."

He waved his hand and Fionn was hit with a ball of frost magic. He pulled his Io around his injury for defense, but he wasn't strong enough to summon his Io's armor to fully encase his body. In fact, Malcolm had been right - it had been a while since Veon had given him his regular elixir, and Fionn had been using a great deal of magic recently. Controlling his Io took magic - a low level, but his Io would become dangerous to him if he ran out of reserves to control it.

"Son of a bitch!" Kieran drew his dagger and charged the warlock. Under other circumstances, Fionn would've debated between being proud of Kieran's outburst and being horrified at what he had been teaching him.

Malcolm was not physically capable compared to the brothers, but in return his magic only took a flick of his wrist to blast Kieran back before he had even made it halfway. Malcolm walked over to Fionn, who could barely move at this point. The frost of Malcolm's offensive spells was clinging to him and spreading. If he ever had the chance to recover from the pain of Malcolm's physical hits, that was lost when the frost froze his limbs and his skin was going blue. While he couldn't die, that didn't mean he couldn't lose his limbs if he wasn't careful.

Fionn was lifted, the warlock had levitated him with some of his magic. "I'll grant you this, Kingson, for your admirable, unwavering loyalty to your precious brother: the one Fionn killed to curse his blade was no ordinary victim. For such a curse to be placed on him…well that just doesn't happen every day." He held up Fionn's dark weapon. "Fionn Flann Kingson has been cursed for the crime of matricide, and only his dear brother - the only brother with whom he shares a mother - can be the one to end him."

Before Fionn could properly see Kieran's reaction, Malcolm pulled them both through a Portal. The frost spread across his entire body, and he felt it creeping up to his head. Fionn told himself that his life was forfeit often, but at the moment he had never felt more eager to die. Kieran was safe for now, but he also knew the truth. Fionn had known that Kieran would learn the truth eventually, but for some reason he wasn't ready yet. And from Malcolm's attitude, Fionn had a feeling that Malcolm wasn't done with revealing his secrets. At least Fionn might be able to get information out of him, but beyond that he had no idea whether he wanted to be rescued or whether he was prepared to die.

Through the disorientation of a Portal, Fionn caught a glimpse of a small boy, heard Malcolm's voice sigh and mutter something, and felt himself hit cold, hard stone before his vision tunneled to black.

* * *

Aaron Half-Light still appeared to be possessed by the card-Astral guy, but that didn't stop him from giving Diego a light scolding that needed to be put on hold until they saved Tavvy.

Julian threw open the door of the weapons room. "Everyone, arm yourselves. If you're not in gear, get in gear. Diego, Cristina, Aaron, there's gear hanging on the east wall. Take it, it'll be faster than going back to your rooms. Use any weapons you want. Finn, Selina, if you need anything too, take it. Kieran, you stay right there." He pointed towards the table in the middle of the room. "Where I can see you. Don't move or the next blade I throw at you won't miss."

Kieran gave him a look. A little of his visible despair seemed to have ebbed, and there was arrogance in his quick glance. "I believe it," he said, and moved towards the table as everyone scurried around arming themselves and buckling gear on over their clothes. Not patrol gear, which was lighter, but the heavy dark gear you wore when you thought you were going to fight.

When you _knew_ you were going to fight.

There had been some discussion of whether all of them were going to go to the convergence, or whether Dru at least should stay back at the Institute. Dru had protested vociferously, and Julian hadn't fought it - the Institute didn't feel safe at the moment, with the oculus smashed open. Kieran had gotten in, and who knew what else could? He wanted his family where he could see them. And there wasn't much he could say to Dru about her age - he and Emma had fought and killed during the Dark War then they had been younger than she was now.

Julian had taken Ty aside and offered for him to stay behind from the fight because he was wounded; he could lock himself in the car while they went to the convergence. Ty had insisted that he come - it was what he wanted, to help Tavvy, to help his family. Everyone could get hurt - it was a fight. Ty wanted to come, he wanted his family to let him help, and that was all that should have mattered.

Ty was in the weapons room with them now. It was a cavernous space with no windows. Every spare inch of the walls was hung with swords, aces, and maces. Gear, belts, and boots were stacked in piles. There was a ceramic tile bowl full of steles and a table covered with a long cloth held seraph blades. Mark was at Julian's side, towing off his shoes and kicking his feet into boots. Emma was at the counter, lining up seraph blades that had already been named and prepared, sliding some into her belt and distributing the rest. Julian's awareness of her swung as she moved around the room like the needle on a compass.

There was a cold terror in Julian that threatened to pull the determination out of his bones and sap his concentration. Pushing it away to focus on what was happening here and now was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He bitterly wished that things were different, that they had the cooperation of the Clave, that they could have gotten to Magnus and asked for a Portal. But it was no use wishing.

"We can only hope that Veon and Max are already at the convergence," Selina told Finn in private. "All regular means of communication are knocked out - even Astral signals are getting disrupted. The disrupted area itself should set off some alarm bells in the Astral community, but with everything in disarray, I'm not sure if they'll send a force or if they'll see it as just mortal affairs. I mean, we _are_ being hunted right about now, so some rogue Astrals might come after us just out of curiosity…"

"You're worried about the rules _now?_" Aaron asked, walking over with a seraph blade. It was glowing with a regular Shadowhunter color, but clearly he wasn't Aaron and was in Astral-mode.

"Yeah! Well - I mean - isn't our whole _goal_ to kinda…_fix_ the whole rules being destroyed thing? Ya know, broken governing system, Hexatheon in shambles, nature dying and such?"

"And so the odds of us getting arrested legally are low. Getting hunted down _unofficially_, of course…"

"Well…there _are_ a lot of people still following the law and all. The Infernians might have lost a leader, but the other leaders are still out there - some tightening the rules. Helping Infernians is one thing. Literally doing other totally illegal things is a bit different. It's discrimmination versus actual crime and possibly consequential fate-altering. Regardless of our heroics, we're still gonna be brought to court once we solve all this."

"Speak for yourself. I've been rogue since I was Turned - Astral Turned, that is, not Endarkened Turned. You get used to it."

"So why are you working with us now?"

"Who even _are_ you?" Finn demanded. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Just a worker from HQ."

"HQ sent you?" Selina repeated. "From PR?"

"Yeah. Not that _you're_ part of PR officially. You're considered a rogue too, and a possible infected. Clearly that's not the case, but that's how you're labeled."

"You're not a part of the…?" Finn began.

"I wasn't very friendly over the years," Selina dismissed. "But if you're a rogue, how did _you_ join up with PR?"

"I know the leader. When things started going downhill, she called in a favor from me. Didn't really have much of a choice."

"You know-?"

"Shhh…" He put his finger on her nose, which more confused her than anything else. "You talk too much."

"At least tell us what your _name_ is," Finn demanded. "Why the hell are you Aaron? How _long_ have you been him?"

"Aaron doesn't know about me. I fill in the blanks with some memory alterations. I've actually never been active for this long. But with Phoenix taken, we need to rescue him quickly. Mataecharonsan said he was at the convergence waiting for Malcolm to finish his necromancy spell. Since Phoenix is now involved, we'll have to hope he's on our side."

Selina scoffed. "Yeah right. Like that Necromian cares about anyone but himself. That's how they _all_ are - it's all just business most of the time."

"Mat has people he cares about too. He may not act like it, but he's an official member of PR too. Probably the only one of his kind that's actually willing to _do_ anything."

"Back to the subject. Your name?" Finn prodded.

Aaron rolled his eyes. He was clearly unhappy with people knowing who he was. It probably made sense, being a rogue and all, that he would normally limit his contact with others and use fake names. "Just call me Ace. I'm an Illusian of the cards. Playing cards, tarot cards, whatever you wanna imagine."

Finn raised an eyebrow. "What? Are there Illusians of cups and coins?"

Ace frowned. "Overall there are Illusians of deception, misdirection, and perspective. Some use straight up magic veils, some use drugs and potent natural mixtures. I just happen to use cards and 2D to 3D powers. Just like Seline happens to use water. But yeah, there's an Illusian of coins and she's not one to be messed with."

"You've heard about Clary Fairchild and her family's ability to hide physical things within paintings?" Selina explained. "Well that's supposedly an Illusian power. Shadowhunters aren't supposed to have access to such a thing, but Clary's mom and then Clary have the ability because they were blessed at some point or another."

"It's a trivial fact now," Ace dismissed. "Our goal is Phoenix. The situation regarding Malcolm Fade is…not ideal. He's been messing with Phoenix for a while now - and Brynhildr has allowed it."

Selina frowned. "Brynhildr…when I last tried to speak with her, she seemed to have a plan."

"Not one that the PR leader agrees with."

"So she's _not_ with PR…"

"She's been trying to keep Phoenix hidden in the Unseelie Court until she could get him his power and Ifrit's mantle and such. Unfortunately, things have started to unravel. I can only _imagine_ what she's doing right now, but so far, it seems like she's doing _nothing_. Nothing of any use, anyway. Staying in the Unseelie Court, hiding under the Unseelie King's protection by making a bargain about Phoenix's blessing on the Court…"

"It was certainly risky," Selina agreed.

"Wait, wait, slow down," Finn interjected. "Can we please just lay this out with a straight explanation?"

Ace sighed. "Brynhildr is an Infernian second only to Ifrit, head of the Infernians. Back in the Ifrit War, she teamed up with you and Phoenix to try and stop Ifrit. All we know is that all of you died to be reborn. Brynhildr decided that the safest thing to do - what with all the Infernian hate after the war - was to make a deal with the Unseelie King that if he protected Phoenix and allowed him to regain his memories and his power and help him find the power of Ifrit to take over Ifrit's empty Infernian throne, that Phoenix would bless the king and his lands and such."

"Phoenix would _renew_ the blessing," Selina corrected. "See, Ifrit already blessed the Unseelie King and his lands before. With Ifrit going insane from the Scourge during the war and dying, a new Infernian leader now has to step up: Phoenix. But with the change in power, Phoenix now has to renew the blessing in order for the Unseelie King's land to prosper. Unfortunately…something's wrong with Phoenix. As you can probably deduce, Fionn doesn't have Phoenix's power or memories - only his own regular quirks."

"Astrals do the whole rebirth thing all the time just for fun and to keep things in their lives interesting. But the more powerful the deity, the quicker the new life wears off and they regain their memories and power. Phoenix should have been restored by his twenties, but he wasn't. Complications have happened - memory wipes, powerful spells, many things that have delayed or disrupted Phoenix and his ability, or _willingness_, to fix everything. The Unseelie King is getting impatient. Not only that, his lands are suffering without the blessing. It's likely that the Unseelie King also wants _you_, Finnegan. A boy who can tame and control Astrals…you have no idea how dangerous and useful you could be. If Phoenix isn't able to return on his own, the king probably wagers that _you_ can _make_ him."

"Hey, wait! I can't…I mean the only time I've ever merged with an Astral was an _accident_. Besides, Zoltan was doing all the work…"

"But you can _learn_, Finn," Selina said. "That's all that matters. Merging with Zoltan put you on the Astrals' radar - they don't know if you're a threat or not, and they can't take chances. The Unseelie King wants you, the Astrals want you, and the godly chain of command is in disarray."

"Now that the secret is out about Finnegan, I'd say the safest thing to do is bring him to HQ," Ace suggested. "Phoenix isn't yet active, but…we don't have a lot of options. Screw the rules; it's too late to go back now. We extract Phoenix from Malcolm and convince him to come to PR. The Founder can maybe help him restore Phoenix and his powers."

Selina sighed. "We _do_ have a bit of a target on our backs now that we're on the Astra radar. We only managed as long as we _did_ because no one knew about Phoenix or about you, Finn."

"Where exactly _is_ this HQ?"

"It's a fortified city led by a woman we call the Founder," Ace explained. "She's extremely powerful - powerful enough to erect a barrier that prevents any unwanted people, mortal or Astral. Unfortunately, that also means that she can't leave the city or risk endangering all the people under her protection."

"So is she protecting all of the Infernians?"

"Not all. The rules of the city…disturb many. While you're in the city, your very thoughts are constantly being monitored for signs of hostility. You get used to it. So long as you have no ill intentions against the city, you're free to make a life for yourself there. It's only once you have hostile intentions that you get taken in. If you don't want to live there, then you don't have to - they don't hold anyone hostage or anything. But it _is_ called fascist and pretty much a dictatorship. Not dystopian - you don't really have many restrictions beyond nothing to endanger the citizens, but that doesn't reassure some people. I prefer to be sent out into the field, personally."

"Sounds…fun," Selina muttered, obviously not finding the idea very fun.

"Regardless, she's our best chance at keeping you and Phoenix safe so that you can do your thing and save the world…or whatever it is we're expecting you to do to save the shitty state of government that we're currently facing."

"So the plan is get Fionn back then take us to a city where privacy is eliminated for the sake of safety?" Finn summarized. "Just great."

"Right now, we find Phoenix. If you don't want to come, you don't have to, but your only protection from Astrals who want your head on a pike is going to be your little squad of Astrals. While they're good, I don't think any of them have a way to restore Phoenix's power. Brynhildr is the one who got us _into_ this mess, so I wouldn't trust her. If you've got another plan, I'm all ears, but otherwise, I'm leaving. I have other important things to do beyond helping Phoenix. It's actually not my current mission, so I'm taking a bit of a risk here.'

"Wait, so what's your actual mission?"

"Protecting you and Merida from your father, finding your mother."

"My…mom?" Finn stared at him, wide-eyed.

"I'm a witch-hunter. Your father is possessed by a witch, we believe."

"He gave Phoenix the Scourge," Selina recalled. "We were worried about that…"

"Meanwhile, your mother was Ellesmira Scion, the Oracle. The Oracle is a mortal blessed with the power to commune with the Astrals, see the future, and make sure the Astrals don't mess with the world and fate and such. She's the bridge between mortal and god - especially in the extreme cases with the higher-up gods who are so ethereal and all that shit that they don't just saunter around freely like the Astrals you've probably met. The witches have been targeting the Oracle, and they took over your father to try and get to her."

"My mom died…" Finn muttered. "Sh-She went out on a mission…she was set up, but-"

"Yeah, the scenario was manufactured by the Oracle herself, actually. Or at least, that's what we can gather. She's been hiding for a while now, no idea where she could be. Her children are targets as the next Oracle. Since Finn's already got his Astral thing, Merida is the best candidate. To make her into the next Oracle, the current Oracle needs to be killed and then the Oracle's Artifact must be located to give her the memories and powers of all the former Oracles."

"So you've been watching over Merida? Through Aaron?"

"Yeah. Took a bit of trial and error, finding someone who would end up close to her."

"I…I suppose I should say thanks, but…"

Ace waved his hand dismissively. "Wipe that look off your face. Aaron and I are completely separate. I use his eyes and ears and sometimes his whole body, but otherwise, he's entirely the one who got close to Merida on his own."

"You'd better keep her safe. And happy."

"She's a good person. I may not actually interact with her, but I know that much. Just because I was _assigned_ to protect her doesn't mean I'm gonna half-ass it. Aaron's not bad too - he had to give me permission to possess him, after all, even if he doesn't remember it. To protect Merida, he said. Once this is over, I'll let the two of them go off and be all…romantic and shit together.

Finn smiled. "You're not a bad guy. For a rogue, I mean."

He scoffed. "Gee. Thanks? Anyway, the girl's tough enough on her own. I haven't needed to really do anything - so far."

"Don't I know it."

"Well we should hurry and get Fionn and let you get back to Merida," Selina said. "So, what's the plan?"

Finn held up his seraph violin. "Charge in, weapons blazing?"

"Great plan," Ace deadpanned.

He motioned for them to join the others as they finished gearing up.

"Talk," Julian snapped at Kieran, pulling down a weapons belt from a shelf. "That black light, you said it was 'faerie magic.' Did you mean dark magic?"

Now that Mark was no longer looking directly at him, Kieran seemed bored and annoyed. He leaned against the central table, taking care not to come into contact with any of the weapons - not, his expression made clear, because they were sharp or frightening, but because they were Nephilim weapons and therefore repellent. Finn took one look at him and was reminded that Kieran was a prince - regardless of how tough life was in the Hunt, he had an air of arrogance within him that just fell naturally. Because Fionn often protected his brother, Finn could see why his reaction to his situation was met with annoyance; he needed help saving Fionn, he had no idea how to win back Mark and Mark's family was only making the wedge between them worsen.

"The question is whether it will show up on the Clave's map," Ty informed him, buckling on protective gauntlets. He was already in his gear, and the slightest outline of the bandage on his calf was barely visible under the thick fabric. "The one Magnus uses to track dark magic use. Or is that blocked like the cell phones?"

"It was Unseelie magic, but not dark in nature," Kieran said. "It will not show itself on the map. They were very sure of that."

Julian frowned. "Who is _they?_ In fact, how do you know so much about Malcolm?"

"Because of Iarlath."

Mark turned to stare. "Iarlath? What has he to do with this?"

"I thought you knew that at least," Kieran muttered. "Iarlath and Malcolm have been in this together since the attack on the Institute five years ago."

"They're allies?" Mark demanded. "How long have you known?"

"Only a short time. I became suspicious when Iarlath so strongly refused to allow you to come back to Faerie. He wished you to stay here, so much so that he staged that charade of punishment with the whipping so that you would not return with us. After that, Fionn and I realized there was more to the plan of having you here at the Institute than finding the murderer who had taken faerie lives. It was about preventing anyone in your family from being able to go to the Clave until it was too late."

Emma had a seraph blade in each hand and Cortana on her back; she had paused, her face stiff with shock. "Iarlath said something to me before he…I mean…while I was being whipped. That Shadowhunters don't know who to trust. He meant Malcolm, didn't he?"

"Most likely," Kieran said. "Malcolm's is the shadow hand that has guided the Followers, and Malcolm killed your parents five years ago."

"Why?" Emma was rigid. Julian looked longingly at her, almost in pain from how desperately he wanted to go to her. "_Why did he kill my parents?_"

"As I understand it?" Kieran said, and there was a tinge of pity to his voice. "It was an experiment. To see if the spell worked."

Emma stood speechless. Julian asked it for her, the question she couldn't voice. "What do you mean, an experiment?"

"Years ago, Iarlath was one of the Fair Folk who allied themselves with Sebastian Morgenstern. He was also a friend to Malcolm. As you probably know, there are certain books warlocks are forbidden to own, but which can be found in some Shadowhunter libraries. Necromantic tomes and the like. One of those is the Black Volume of the Dead."

"The one that the poem talked about," Dru remembered. Though her face was still tear-stained, she had put on her gear and was braiding her hair carefully back from her face. It hurt Julian's heart, to see her like that. "'Find the black book at any cost.'"

"There are many black books," Finn pointed out.

"But this was one Malcolm specifically wanted," Kieran continued. "Once the Institute was cleared of Shadowhunters and Sebastian departed, Malcolm took the opportunity to slip in and steal the book from the library. After all, when else was the Institute going to be unguarded, the door open? He took it, and he found the spell he wanted, and he saw that it required the sacrifice of Shadowhunter life. That was when your parents returned to the Institute, Emma."

"So he killed them," Emma said, her voice heavy. "For a spell." She gave a short, bitter laugh."Did it at least work?"

"It didn't. It failed, and so he left their bodies in the ocean, knowing that the murders would be taken to be Sebastian's work."

"Iarlath told you all this?" There was suspicion on Mark's face.

"Fionn and I followed Iarlath to the Unseelie Court and listened to what he said there." Kieran tried to meet Mark's gaze. Mark looked away. "The rest is what we demanded he tell us at knifepoint - you know of Fionn's interrogation methods; it took little time to get him to confess the pertinent information. Malcolm was to misdirect and confuse you so that you would not realize what he was doing - he used Johnny Rook for some of that. He wanted you to engage yourself in an investigation that would prove fruitless. Mark's presence here would deter you from asking the Clave or the Silent Brothers to help you, thus protecting Malcolm's work with the Followers, his attempts to raise his old love from the dead. When Malcolm had done what he needed to do, he would take a Blackthorn, for the death of a Blackthorn would be the last key to the enchantment. My brother's dagger was an unanticipated bonus, as far as I can gather. Malcolm learned of it through his affiliations with the Unseelie Court, its dangerous magical properties and how it could potentially be used to eliminate all chances of failure for his spell. Considering all the work he put into it and how he values his lost love, I understand why he would want to take every available boon that falls into his path. He has threatened Fionn before, I learned. Both Iarlath and Malcolm have history about Fionn that remains a mystery - and Fionn seems intent on holding fast to his secrets. Malcolm may yet threaten to reveal his secrets, but better information than the death of an innocent." Kieran's eyes darkened. "Or so we must hope."

"Iatlath hasn't got the power to authorize a faerie convoy to do something on this scale," Mark said. "He's just a courtier, not someone who can order Gwyn around. Who gave the permission for this to happen?"

Kieran shook his dark head. "I don't know. Iarlath did not say. I believe it was implied that the King, my father, was allowing Iarlath privileges in exchange for bringing in Fionn and the Shadowhunter Finnegan for personal reasons. I do not know what those reasons are." He glanced at Finnegan, who couldn't hide his grim expression, revealing to Kieran that he did indeed know the reasons. Kieran averted his gaze and continued, "Or it could have been Gwyn-"

"Gwyn would not do that," Mark declared. "Gwyn has honor, and he is not cruel."

"What about Malcolm?" Livvy demanded. "I thought he had honor. I thought he was our friend! He loves Tavvy - he's played with him for hours, brought him toys. He couldn't kill him. He couldn't."

"He's responsible for the killing of a dozen people, Livvy," Julian reminded her. "Maybe more."

"People are more than one thing," Mark said, and his eyes brushed over Kieran as he spoke. "Warlocks too."

"Everyone is more than one thing," Kieran said. "We are more than single actions we undertake, whether they be good or evil." His eyes gleamed, silver and black, as he looked at Mark. Even in this room full of Shadowhunter things, the wildness of the Hunt and Faerie clung to Kieran like the scent of rain or leaves. It was the wildness that Julian sometimes sensed in Mark, that had faded since he'd come back to them, but showed itself still in brief flares like gunfire seen from a distance. For a moment, they seemed to him two feral things, incongruous in their surroundings.

"The longer an immortal lives, the more unpredictable they become," Aaron - er, Ace - said. "People make mistakes; immortals will make the same amount of mistakes, but they'll keep making them for centuries on end. There comes a time when the friendship regular mortals experience is nothing but a choice an immortal makes to imitate."

Finn sighed. "If nothing else, Malcolm's a good actor. In another life, he might've been an actually great friend."

Julian looked absolutely broken. Emma stood with her hands still on the seraph blades. Julian could feel what she felt, as he always had, as if his own heart mirrored hers - the hot curl of anger rising over a choking sense of despair and loss. More than anything he wanted to reach out to her, but he didn't trust himself to do it in front of everyone else. They'd be able to see right through him the moment he touched her, see his real feelings. And there was no way he could risk that now, not when his heart was being eaten alive with fear over his little brother, fear he couldn't show in case it demoralized the rest of his siblings. His family was already reeling from the idea that Malcolm - a trusted and loyal companion who had helped them so much over the years - had betrayed them and may end up killing one of their own: Tavvy, the youngest and most innocent.

"The poem that was written on the bodies," Cristina said. "The one that mentioned the black book. The story said it was given to Malcolm in the Unseelie Court."

"So goes the faerie story as well," Kieran agreed. "At first Malcolm was told that his love had become an Iron Sister. Later he found out that she had been murdered by her family. Walled up alive in a tomb. The knowledge drove him to seek out the King of the Unseelie Court and ask him if there was a way to raise the dead. The King gave him that rhyme. It was instructions - it is only that it took him almost a century to learn how to follow them, and to find the black book."

"That's why the library was destroyed in the attack," Emma said. "So no one would notice the book was missing, if they ever looked for it. So many books were lost. But why did Iarlath tell Malcolm that the Followers could kill faeries as well as humans?" Emma asked. "If he was really in league with Malcolm-"

"That was something Iarlath wanted. He has many enemies in the Seelie Court. It was an expedient way for him to rid himself of some of them - Malcolm had his Followers slay them, and the murders could not be traced back to Iarlath. For a faerie to kill another of the gentry, that is a dark crime indeed."

"Where is Annabel's body?" Livvy asked. "Wouldn't she be buried in Cornwall? Wouldn't she have been walled up there - in a 'tomb by the sounding sea?'"

"Convergences are places out of space and time," Selina pointed out. "The convergence itself is neither here nor in Cornwall nor in any real space. It is a between place, like Faerie itself."

"It can probably be entered through Cornwall as well - that would be why those plants grow outside the entrance," Mark said.

"Nightshade growing where it shouldn't," Finn remembered. "Right, that would make sense."

"And what is the connection to the poem 'Annabel Lee'?" Ty asked. "The name Annabel, the similarities of the stories - it seems more than coincidence."

The dark-haired faerie prince only shook his head. "I only know what Iarlath told me, and what is part of faerie lore. I did not even know the name Annabel or the mundane poem. Fionn knew it, I believe, from his time with you."

Mark whirled on Kieran. "Where is Iarlath now?"

Kieran's eyes seemed to shimmer when he looked back. "We are wasting time here. We should be getting to the convergence."

"He isn't wrong," Diego announced. "We must get to the ley line convergence and stop Fade-"

Diego was completely kitted out: gear, several swords, an ax, throwing knives at his belt. He wore a black cloak over his gear, pinned at the shoulder with the pin of the Centurions - it bore the pattern of a leafless stick, and the words '_Primi Ordines_.' He made the rest of them feel underdressed. At least Aaron was dressed a little more moderately - actually, he was wearing a simple suit like he was going to a black-tie event but with his black jacket being utility-based with many pockets and many concealed weapons. His Centurion pin was on a bolo tie. It wasn't standard attire for a Centurion, he said, but Ace found it more accommodating for when he was using Aaron and for unofficial missions - which this _was_, he pointed out. Emergencies allowed them to act - knowing that Malcolm was an active threat, regardless of the rules that the Blackthorns were breaking - and yet Ace said that he definitely wasn't looking forward to the paperwork this might cause.

Julian looked around the room, at Emma and Mark, and then at Ty and Livvy, and lastly Dru. "I know that we have known Malcolm all our lives. But he is a murderer and liar. Warlocks are immortal, but not invulnerable. When you see him, put your blade in his heart."

There was silence. Emma broke it. "He killed my parents. I'll be the one to cut out his heart."

Kieran's eyebrows went up, but he said nothing.

"Guess we don't really need to turn him in alive if Iarlath's investigation was a sham," Finn muttered.

"Jules." It was Mark, having moved to stand at Julian's shoulder. His hair, that Cristina had cut, was tangled; there were shadows under his eyes. But there was strength in the hand he laid on Julian's shoulder. "Would you place a rune upon me, brother? For I fear that without them, I will be at a disadvantage in the battle."

Julian's hand went automatically to his stele. Then he paused. "Are you sure?"

Mark nodded. "It is time to let the nightmares go." He pulled the neck of his shirt aside and down, baring his shoulder. "Courage," he said, naming a rune. "And Agility."

The others were discussing the fastest way to get to the convergence, but Julian was aware of Emma's, Kieran's, and Finnegan's eyes on him as he put one hand on Mark's back and used the other to draw two careful runes. At the first bite of the stele, Mark tensed, but relaxed immediately, letting out his breath in a soft exhale. When Julian was done, he lowered his hands. Mark straightened up and turned to him. Though he had shed no tears, his two-colored eyes were brilliant. For a moment there was no one in the world but Julian and his brother.

"Why?" Julian asked.

"For Tavvy," Mark said, and suddenly, in the set of his mouth, in the curve of the determined line of his jaw, Julian could see his own self. "And," Mark added, "because I am a Shadowhunter." He looked towards Kieran, who was gazing at them as if the stele had seared his own skin. Love and hate had their own secret languages, and Mark and Kieran were speaking in them now. "Because I am a Shadowhunter," he said again, his eyes full of a private challenge. "Because _I am a Shadowhunter._"

Kieran pushed himself away from the table almost violently. "I have told you everything I know about Octavian and Malcolm," he said. "There are no other secrets you need."

"So I suppose you're leaving," Mark said. "Thank you for your aid, Kieran. If you are returning to the Hunt, tell Gwyn that I will not be coming back. Not ever, no matter what rules they decree. I swear that I-"

"_Don't_ swear it," Kieran interjected. "You do not know how things will change."

"Enough." Mark began to turn away.

"I have brought my steed with me. Finnegan, you might also be interested to know that Fionn's steed has accompanied mine. A faerie steed of the Hunt can take to the air. Roads do not slow our travel. I will ride ahead and delay what is happening at the convergence until the rest of you arrive. Finnegan, I have no right to ask of you anything, however-"

"I'll join you," Finn cut in. "We make it to the convergence and maybe clear a path in, find Fionn and stop Malcolm from using his weapon to kill Tavvy. Hopefully the rest of you will be there by then. I'll take Zoltan. By the Angel, who _knows_ what he might do if he's left unchecked? He might end up blowing up the convergence if Fionn's in danger for much longer. Last thing we need is him taking Tavvy down too."

Kieran smiled dryly. "Yes, that does sound accurate of my brother's steed."

"Selina?" Finn nodded towards her.

She sheathed a seraph blade, her silvery eyes shimmering. "I'm with you."

"If I may?" Ace asked.

"Uh, sure," Finn muttered.

"I'll meet you out there. I have to make a few calls."

"Phone lines aren't working," Emma pointed out.

Ace rolled his eyes. "Then I'll tend to the steeds." He retreated before anyone else could protest further.

"Kieran, can you give me more information about Fionn on the way?" Finn asked as he motioned for Kieran and Selina to join him in following Ace.

"Wait, I will go with Kieran," Mark said sharply.

Everyone looked at him in surprise. "Um," Emma said. "You can't knife him on the way, Mark. We may need him."

"Pleasant as that sounds, I wasn't planning to."

"I'll make sure Kieran doesn't get shanked," Finn promised. "Or, well, if he _does_ get shanked, I'll try to make sure he doesn't die."

"I do appreciate the consideration," Kieran deadpanned.

"Good thinking," Cristina said. "Mark knows Kieran - with no biases."

"I would have to argue on that front," Finn muttered.

"Negative and positive biases cancel out then. Besides, Mark knows how to ride a faerie steed, and like it or not, they _are_ faster transportation. The more people we can get there at top speed, the better. But the faerie steeds won't allow just anyone to ride them, so we should count ourselves lucky that we have a few designated riders at this moment." She slid her two butterfly knives into her belt. Emma had finished fastening on the last of her seraph blades. The appreciation for Cristina rose in the room, but there was no time to really argue anyway - they had already wasted enough time.

The familiar chill of battle's expectation rose into Finn's veins. "Let's go."

As they headed downstairs, Julian found himself beside Kieran. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Kieran felt like strangeness, wild magic, the murderous abandonment of the Hunt. He couldn't imagine what Mark had found to love about him.

"Your brother was wrong about you," Kieran said as they descended the steps to the entryway.

Julian glanced around, but no one seemed to be listening to them. Emma was beside Cristina, the twins were together, Dru was talking shyly to Diego, and Finn was speaking with his parabatai in whispers.

"What do you mean?" he asked guardedly. He had learned well in the past to be wary of the Fair Folk, their verbal entrapments and their false implications.

"He said you were gentle," Kieran elaborated. "The most gentle person he knew." He smiled, and there was a cold beauty to his face when he smiled, like the crystalline surface of frost. "You are not gentle. You have a ruthless heart."

For several long moments Julian was silent, hearing only the sounds of their steps on the stairs. At the last step he turned.

"Remember it," he said, and walked away.

Kieran glanced over at Finnegan, who was waving his hands as he spoke to his parabatai, a hardened look on his face. When Fionn had described Finnegan Scion, Kieran had often imagined him as his brother's pet during the earliest days - a shy, gentle Shadowhunter who preferred music over conflict. Kieran had a feeling that Fionn had changed Finnegan. _Saved_ him? Well that was up for debate.

The Shadowhunter that Kieran first met was confident and cautious, assertive but considerate. Kieran thought he could surmise Finnegan easily: an average Shadowhunter, not as impulsive as Emma Carstairs or as burdened as Julian Blackthorn, not as innocent as the children, not as experienced as some of the more veteran Shadowhunters. Kieran now saw a very different Shadowhunter peeking through from beneath the surface, a Shadowhunter who had suffered discrimmination and hatred from his peers who reacted by rebelling in his own way and putting on a carefree smile to cover up the years of pain.

But when Finnegan had heard Kieran mention Fionn was in danger, Kieran could see the fire in his eyes - the fire that came from Fionn's teachings. When Fionn was no longer around to both encourage and hold back the people he loved, that was when the effects of his training truly shone through; Fionn could turn his loved ones into gentle creatures but build a monster underneath the surface, carefully hidden and tamed until they snapped. Kieran briefly compared it to Julian - his fierce love and ruthlessness and what it must place upon his siblings who follow his lead.

"Kieran." Finnegan interjected his thoughts. The two of them separated from the Blackthorns while Selina pulled Mark aside. "Look, you didn't say it aloud, but I have a feeling that Iarlath probably didn't make it out of that encounter alive with all he revealed to you."

Kieran's defensive nature remained, but at the very least he didn't seem completely shut off. Finn was still unsure how he should feel about Kieran - Fionn's tales about Kieran always painted Kieran as a younger, naïve brother. Even as the years went by, Finn never really got many indications that Kieran was anything more than…well, a teenager. It was still slightly unnerving how mature and slightly cocky Kieran was, and without Fionn as a mediator, he had no idea how Kieran felt about him. Kieran wasn't a child, but he also wasn't a centuries-old faerie either. He wasn't much younger than _Finnegan_. And he was his own person, not just Fionn's little brother. Though Fionn always gave off the vibes that he was always protecting Kieran, doing what was best for him, etc., Kieran was wise enough to make his own decisions.

By the Angel, why did Finn feel like a parent with a step-child when trying to deal with Kieran?

"He has passed, yes," Kieran affirmed.

"You told the Blackthorns about Tavvy and Malcolm. They don't care about Fionn, only their brother and stopping Fade. There's something else, isn't there? Something about Fionn that you're keeping to yourself. How did Malcolm take Fionn if the two of you interrogated Iarlath together?"

Kieran's sharp gaze resembled his brother's, just far more unnerving because the mismatched eyes looked upon Finn as a stranger. "Shortly after Iarlath's demise, Malcolm ambushed us as we made our plans to return to the Institute to warn you of what we learned. Malcolm revealed information, perhaps in an attempt to unsettle Fionn. I would hazard a guess he also intended to anger me and Fionn against each other."

"What'd he say?"

"At first, it was little of note. Fionn made a deal with a demon a long time ago - I was a mere infant at the time. He transformed himself into a man at the cost of the spell draining his life and magic reserves at a rapid rate. He requires elixirs from a warlock to sustain himself, or he may yet come close to death."

"Become a man?"

"He was born of the female sex. But as I assume you know, his body is entirely masculine."

Finn cleared his throat, hoping that his face wasn't warming. "Yes. So…so he used to be a…a girl. Isn't gender and stuff like that not really a problem in Faerie? Shadowhunters are pretty strict about being different in any way, but-"

"I do not know Fionn's reasons for changing. His personal affairs are no tumultuous revelation. Malcolm then explained that he used Valaeyasha, a memory-demon's warlock child, to take memories from Fionn." He repeated Malcolm's words as best he could remember them.

"So he got 'corrupted…' But an entire decade of his life erased by Malcolm to the point that _everyone_ forgot that he ever existed during that time…no wonder he wanted Valaeyasha under his control. You could erase someone's very existence with a memory-sweep like that."

"Malcolm needed to store the memories somewhere - it's unlikely you can wipe so many memories clean without needing to contain them. Should he be slain, you might consider searching his home and seek out Valaeyasha's aid if you choose to restore the lost memories."

Finn shrugged. "I mean, Fionn's Fionn without those memories, right?"

"I was told he became a problem to the Unseelie Court. Should he have had pertinent information stolen during that time period, you may yet reconsider."

"That still doesn't feel like anything ground-breaking. I suppose it's hard to find importance in memories that we feel we can live without - because we _have_, as far as we are aware."

Kieran stared out to sea. "Fionn's weapon, the cursed one Malcolm desires. What do you know of it?"

"Just the basics: it's a weapon that's cursed with some powerful dark magic, cuts from it can drive the victims insane, and fully killing them will absorb them into the blade. It can apparently do a lot for spells like Malcolm's necromancy."

"That weapon was cursed so that every soul Fionn absorbs into the weapon, the stronger it becomes. He can only be killed by that weapon, and only by the blood of the kin he has wronged. While he is functionally immortal, the blade's enchantment exists solely to kill him for his crimes, and once he is absorbed into the dagger, it will punish him for eternity as every soul he captured will torment him without end. Do you know how the blade was cursed? Do you know what Fionn did to deserve such a punishment?"

Finn shifted uneasily. "No, but I assume it's not a _good_ reason."

Kieran dropped his head, exhaling through his nose as his chest clenched. Rage, sorrow? Finn couldn't quite make out his feelings because he pushed them down so fiercely. "He was cursed for the crime of matricide, and I am the only one who can use that weapon to kill him in retribution."

Finn learned first-hand exactly what emotions had been flowing through Kieran. Well, perhaps not _exactly_ the same emotions. Matricide…he had killed his own _mother?_ Which was Kieran's mother as well.

Finn thought about his few memories of his mother as a child; how she was tough and loving and she sung him to sleep whenever he was stressed and afraid of the pressure that was put on him to be a fighter - a Shadowhunter that would honor his family's name. He remembered confessing that he felt Merida was superior to him in every way and he just wanted to die so that he wouldn't be a burden to his family anymore. His mother hadn't gotten angry, she had just held him close and told him everything she loved about him and all of his strengths, even if he wasn't the smartest or the fittest or the fastest learner and how his mind always seemed to work against him and make him constantly sad - like he was being consumed by darkness with nothing to smile about. That was when she had started to teach him how to play the guitar, when she started pulling some strings to get him music lessons between training (since apparently Shadowhunters were okay with classical music on the piano or violin), when she revealed to him her stash of mundane items that most Shadowhunters disapproved of. Her favorite was the polaroid camera, which she took plenty of photos with and had to work hard to get film for as they started to go out of style. She brought him on patrols and introduced him to Downworlders, kind ones, so that he could learn all about them first-hand, and about the discrimmination that they often faced. His mom became the only light in his life - perhaps he had become a little too dependent on her. She had started to help him gather the courage to make friends and make up with his sister after their many arguments fueled by Finn's jealousy.

Unfortunately, he had barely found a friend in Selina before his mother was just…gone. There was a change in his mother one day, after she had a meeting in the Sanctuary with someone. The memories were hazy, but he remembered she'd locked herself in her room for days on end. Finn tried to go inside, but she always threw him out when he managed to get in. He left food for her each night, he asked his uncle what was wrong with his mom, he asked Merida who seemed just as confused as he was. She didn't cry though. Finn felt ashamed that he had cried when he started to lose hope. Then her meals started disappearing, Merida and Selina banded together to make him feel better and assure him that his mother was getting better. She came out of her room at least, but Finn always seemed to miss her. She was always out on mission or locked in her room.

Finn remembered that he made it into her room, one more time, hoping that things had changed and she'd talk to him. He wondered if she was going through the same sadness that he had been overwhelmed by at times. He wanted to comfort her like she did him. He was ashamed to say that he didn't remember much of the encounter. She spoke to him, she…she put him to bed with a lullaby. By the time he'd woken up, she was gone on another mission. Days later she hadn't returned. Soon, the report came in.

Finn remembered numbness, hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his ears and drowning out the rest of the world. He remembered trying to hold on to the memory of every interaction they'd ever had, recalling the last time they'd ever talked, how close they had been, and how he must've done something wrong. He recalled trying to comprehend the idea that all he had left were memories - he'd never see her again.

Shadowhunters should be ready for loss, they told him. Some pitied him, others scorned his mother's name and said good riddance to the false Shadowhunter who always dabbled in distractions and Downworlders. Finn had wanted to kill them. Merida had straight up assaulted one man who had said such things, climbing onto him and throwing haymakers while wrapping her legs around his neck to choke him. Finn realized then that he had to be the one to pull Merida off of the attack. He had to be the calm one, even as his entire world shattered before him.

Finn tried to imagine for a moment that Merida had killed their mother, how it would feel to know someone who had loved her so dearly would do such a thing. No, it was impossible to rationalize.

Faeries were different than Shadowhunters, but surely it couldn't be _that_ much different - they had to respect and love their parents. Maybe having a father in the Unseelie King with dozens of other brothers from different women was a different scenario, but Fionn had spoken well of his mother before, during those few moments that he opened up. Fionn was hardened and cruel, but he loved his family fiercely. There was no way…but maybe there _was_.

Finn had never hated the fact that he knew Fionn so well. Fionn had one person to protect: Kieran. Having Finnegan to battle for his heart was hard for Fionn, Finnegan knew. Fionn had slowly come to accept the idea that he would have to choose between Kieran and Finn one day. What if…what if he'd had to choose between protecting Kieran and protecting his mother?

The thought made him go pale, the blood draining from his brain to the point that he worried he'd collapse and pass out. "W…Why? P-Perhaps Malcolm was lying-"

"Or perhaps he was not," Kieran snapped. "The only way we will learn the truth is if we question Fionn himself."

Finn knew that Kieran wasn't an idiot. He had probably already hypothesized Fionn's possible reasoning for killing their mother a thousand times over. Kieran probably guessed that Fionn had probably chosen between Kieran and their mother. Kieran was probably feeling guilt on top of it all at being the reason Fionn had made such a choice. And Kieran had clearly had no input on the matter. Fionn had taken that choice away from Kieran.

Kieran was the only one who could kill Fionn in return for what he did. Fionn was cursed to wield a weapon that would be used to slay him by his own brother. He used it knowing full well that every person he killed and absorbed would punish him for eternity when he died.

"You said only you could kill him?"

"Only using that cursed blade, yes."

"Then it'd be okay if I stabbed him 37 times in the chest? He'd survive and heal?"

Kieran's look of genuine surprise might've made Finn break out into laughter in another situation. When caught off guard, Kieran resembled his brother heavily. For a moment, Kieran seemed startled, but then his face relaxed. His expression was no longer mired by that bitter, rage-induced sorrowful state of agony at Fionn's crimes and the reality of their situation - Finn seemed to have successfully distracted him. He still looked gloomy, but he was a bit more relaxed.

"Perhaps I may let you do so. But why such a specific number?"

Finn shrugged. "It's the number of knives I have on me at the moment. It used to be 50, but I'm a bit careless at times and forget to restock."

Kieran's lip twitched in a clear attempt at hiding his amusement. He seemed at a loss for what to say. "Nephilim," he muttered faintly.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Before Kieran could interrupt, Finn continued. "Look, we focus on getting Fionn back alive and stopping Malcolm. We'll work out things after that. Will you return to the Hunt?"

He shrugged, his eyes distant. "I suppose that is the only place we _can_ go. It is currently our home. We are bound to Gwyn."

"And Iarlath's death?"

"Gwyn may choose to hand us over to the Unseelie Court for due punishment. But I must warn you: Iarlath informed me that the Unseelie King wishes for both you and Fionn. For what reason, I do not know."

Finn's eyes narrowed. "I might know."

"If my father desires something of you both and you refuse, you will not escape his ire."

"I figured."

Kieran stared off towards Mark, who was chatting with Selina while they tried whistling for the faerie steeds. Finn knew they wouldn't have a lot of luck, and Windspear - Kieran's steed - would likely only come for Kieran. Maybe once Windspear would have responded to Mark, but now Mark likely rejected Windspear as he did Kieran and Windspear is only returning the favor. Ace was nowhere to be found.

"Finnegan…perhaps it would be best for Fionn to leave the Wild Hunt and remain in your care. I should not ask for you to risk the Clave and the Cold Peace, but…he has gone through enough."

Finn certainly hadn't expected _that_ out of Kieran. Sure, he'd considered the idea, but it never seemed like a genuine option - what with Fionn being so loyal to his brother. "But aren't you bound to Gwyn? I would have to bargain to bring Fionn with me, and I'm not sure what I could offer. Not to mention that Gwyn would not be able to hide that I desired to bring with me a faerie during the times of the Cold Peace - to the point that I would offer to make a bargain in the first place."

"Gwyn does favor Fionn Flann to an extent; they have history before even I or Mark joined. Though Gwyn may not show favoritism within his Hunt, should Fionn desire to _leave_…" He shook his head. "I will stay with the Hunt. Gwyn has lost Mark and if he is to lose Fionn as well it would be a stain on his honor and demonstrate his…prejudice. But so long as I remain, Gwyn may agree to offer you a deal in exchange for Fionn's company. Knowing of the Cold Peace, you have more to lose than he."

"I…not that I dismiss the idea, but what about _you?_ Fionn has spent his life protecting you, and I doubt he'd want to leave you behind."

"He would do so, for he loves you greater than I. Mark does not want me. He would be displeased were I to impose upon Nephilim even should Gwyn allow it."

"I'll be the one to decide if you're imposing."

"Finnegan. _I_ was the one to kill Iarlath." Kieran's dark, two-colored eyes met Finn's with a grim reality. "Mine is the burden to bear. You likely know of my brother's…habits. He would suffer with me, and my father already wishes something of him."

Finn felt dread pool in his stomach. It wasn't as terrible as before when Kieran had revealed Fionn's truth, but he still felt…horrible. He barely knew Kieran, he was in no position to call Kieran family. So why did it feel like he would be losing a part of his heart if Fionn's brother sacrificed himself like that?

"Fionn won't be pleased with it," Finnegan said.

Kieran's nose crinkled. "He gave me no choice to be raised motherless for the majority of my life. This is small recompense for what he did to me." Kieran sighed. The hardness in his eyes slowly faded to weariness. "There is a small chance the Court will not be able to take me away - they might not learn of Iarlath's killer if we do not admit to it, or Gwyn may be able to intervene to punish me instead of the Court. He is not cruel; I will continue to ride with Gwyn in the Hunt under his protection."

"Alone?" Kieran had lost Mark, and now Kieran was willing to lose his brother too? Even for Kieran - who Finn _knew_ was strong - that was…that was a lot to handle on such short notice.

"Perhaps I might visit you as Fionn once did. When the chaos has settled - if it ever does settle."

Finn stared at Kieran with a mixture of pity and pride. He held his hand up and pulled off a small ring on his pinky finger, holding it out to Kieran. It was a simple band, but it looked far too small for Finnegan's hands. "This is a ring that Zytaveon the warlock modified to be infused with a Portal gem. It activates a Portal to our meeting grounds, heavily fortified against tracking. From the meeting grounds it can be activated as a regular Portal to take you where you want to go. If you ever want to meet us, the meeting grounds are connected to me and my friends - including Fionn. You'll be able to sense who's there - and they'll be able to sense when _you're_ there. It's durable and enchanted so that only you can take it off and _you_ decide who it works for. Fionn was careful to only use it when he had the freedom to do as he pleased, and so long as he intended to return to Gwyn's Hunt and had no intentions of desertion, Gwyn did not intervene."

Kieran stared down at the ring with trepidation. "This is-"

"A gift. I trust you to know how to use it. When we get Fionn back, I can just go there with him and Zoltan if I need to. Besides, you'll be having a rougher time than I am, so you need it more. And if you ever wanna speak with Mark, I'll be open to helping make that happen. I do hope that one day he can forgive - we all must forgive if we are to go forward."

Kieran plucked the ring out of Finnegan's hand, delicate fingers caressing the delicate band. He slipped it onto his pinky finger and it automatically resized itself to fit snugly between his first and second knuckle.

"I…thank you," he said quickly. Kieran sounded like he was unfamiliar with thanking others. Finn vaguely wondered how many people really gave him things to thank them for aloud.

"Let's go," Finn dismissed.

Kieran nodded wordlessly and followed him down to join Selina and Mark. Selina and Finnegan began bickering about being able to summon the steeds while Mark avoided meeting Kieran's eyes. Finn was arguing about how he didn't know how to whistle that loudly with his fingers so he defaulted to just screaming Zoltan's name. The horse appeared with a crash of thunder, zipping onto the grass with lightning speed.

"For the Angel's sake, give me a heart attack, will you?!" Finn exclaimed.

The horse nickered; it seemed amused, but also in a rush. Finn quickly climbed on, clearly experienced with the steed despite how unconventional it was to ride for most. He pulled Selina on behind him, but Mark shook his head.

"I will ride with Kieran."

Finn frowned, but he shrugged. "Fine. Just don't kill him."

"I promise, I will not kill him this day."

"_Mark_."

Kieran couldn't help his amusement. Finnegan had been taught how to handle fey wording.

"I swear I will not kill him today or tomorrow until Tavvy is safe and Malcolm has been defeated."

"Better." Finn nodded and spurred the reinless horse onwards, taking off and disappearing in a thunderous boom.

"In another life, Finnegan, perhaps I would seek pleasure in your proper camaraderie," Kieran muttered.

* * *

_Because I am a Shadowhunter_.

Mark stood beside Kieran on the sweep of grass that led down to the bluff and then the sea. The Institute rose behind them, dark and lightless, though from here, at least, the hole in the roof was invisible.

Kieran put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, a sound achingly familiar to Mark. The sight of Kieran was still enough to make his heart ache, from the way he held himself - every line of his body speaking of his early Court training - to the way that his hair had grown too long since Mark had not been there to cut it, and the blue-dark strands fell into his eyes and tangled with his long eyelashes. Mark remembered being enchanted by the curve and sweep of those lashes. He remembered how they felt against his skin.

"Why?" Kieran asked. He was standing facing a little away from Mark, his posture rigid, as if he expected to be slapped. "Why come with me?"

"Because you require watching," Mark said. "Finnegan may trust you because he trusts Fionn. His judgment is impaired. I could trust you once. I cannot trust you now."

"That is not the truth. I know you, Mark. I know when you lie."

Mark spun on him. He had always felt a little afraid of Kieran, he realized: of the power of his rank, of his unassailable surety in himself. That fear was gone now, and he couldn't say if it was because of the Courage rune on his shoulder or because he no longer desperately needed Kieran to live. Wanted him, loved him - those were different questions. But he could survive, either way. He was a Shadowhunter.

"Fine," Mark said, and he knew he should have said '_very well_,' but the language wasn't in him anymore; it didn't beat in his blood, the high speech of Faerie. "I'll tell you why I wanted to come with you-"

There was a flash of white. Windspear cleared a small rise and bounded up to them, answering the call of his master. He whinnied when he saw Mark and nosed at his shoulder. No matter if Mark was in good spirits with his master, Windspear_ was _ still fond of him. He stroked the steed's neck in response. A hundred times he had carried him and Kieran in the Hunt, a hundred times they had shared a single mount, and ridden together, and fought together, and as Kieran climbed up onto the horse's back, the familiarity was like fishhooks under Mark's skin.

Kieran looked down at him, every inch the prince despite his bloodstained clothes. His eyes were half-lidded crescents of silver and black. "So tell me."

Mark felt the Agility rune burn on his back as he swung himself up behind Kieran. His arms went around Kieran automatically, hands settling themselves where they had always settled, at Kieran's belt. He felt Kieran inhale sharply. He wanted to drop his head to Kieran's shoulder. He wanted to put his hands over Kieran's and lace their fingers together. He wanted to feel what he had felt living among the Hunt, that with Kieran he was safe, with Kieran he had someone who would never leave him.

But there were worse things than being left.

"Because," Mark said, "I wished to ride with you in the Hunt one last time." He felt Kieran flinch. Then the faerie boy leaned forward, and Mark heard him say a few words to Windspear in the Fair Speech. As the horse began to run, Mark reached back to touch the place where Julian had put the runes. He had felt a rush of panic when the stele touched his skin, and then a calm that had flowed through him, surprising him.

Maybe the runes of Heaven truly did belong on his skin. Maybe he'd been born to them after all.

He held tight to Kieran as Windspear lifted up into the sky, hooves tearing the air, and the Institute spun away below them.

* * *

**Chapter Title: '_Little Talks_' by Of Monsters and Men**


	20. When I Fall to Rise

Fionn felt sick. He _hated_ feeling sick.

Well, no one really _liked_ the feeling of nausea, pain, dizziness, etc., but Pyre had taught him that bitching about his situation made it a little more bearable. He had been skeptical, but it gave him something to focus on.

He was collapsed on the stone ground of the cavern surrounded by a ring of violet flame and held down by Malcolm's magic. Though the flames didn't hurt, the ring was like a magnet repelling its same charge - the closer he got, the harder it pushed back against him - and Fionn had no strength to push through. Malcolm, no matter how innocent and kind he could appear to the Blackthorns and even to his other immortal friends, was a powerful warlock. Fionn had already been using a great deal of magic recently, and it had been too long since he'd asked Veon for a potion to stabilize himself. Even if he'd been at full strength, Malcolm would be a stronger caster by far and Fionn would need to default to using his Io and the terrain to make up the difference. His Io was worthless so long as he was, and it also relied on his magic levels too. He had to face the fact that he was beat and didn't have a plan to escape.

The area was dim, giving the impression of immense space spreading away into darkness. The portholes from before were gone, and etched into the stone of the cave were the words of the poem that had become so familiar to him.

'_I was a child and she was a child,__  
__In this kingdom by the sea,__  
__But we loved with a love that was more than love-__  
__I and my Annabel Lee-__  
__With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven__  
__Coveted her and me._'

The wingèd seraphs of Heaven. Shadowhunters.

In front of him was a stone table, rising about chest high, the surface rough and pitted as if it had been carved out of black lava. A wide circle of white chalk, sketched on the floor, surrounded the table. On it lay Octavian Blackthorn. He seemed to be sleeping, his small face soft and slack, his eyes closed. His feet were bare, and his wrists and ankles were locked into chains that were attached by loops of iron on the table's stone legs. A metal bowl, splashed with ominous-looking stains, had been placed by his head - along with Fionn's cursed knife.

"You understand it, don't you? The overwhelming desire to protect that which you love." Malcolm ran his hand across the stone table with Tavvy as he spoke. "You killed many people - many _innocents_ \- even damned yourself to a fate worse than death - all for the sake of your brother. And yet you don't seem to understand _me_."

"I kill…not the…innocent…" Fionn couldn't get many words out. He wanted to shout how he only ever used his blade to absorb those who deserved it. There was only one innocent soul within that blade: his mother. The insane, the mad, the cruel and sadistic. He tried to use his weapon to rid the world of such people. And he condemned himself to a worse fate with each kill.

"You destroyed yourself, Fionn. Stubborn even to the end."

Fionn wanted to spit to Malcolm every insult that Pyre and Wolf had ever taught him. Instead, he simply spasmed from the pain coursing through his body.

"I gave you the chance to help me, Fionn. Perhaps if you had, you'd have made it back to your love as well. Perhaps I would have just told your father that you got away."

Fionn grit his teeth. His father? He was reminded that Malcolm had _gotten_ that rhyme about reviving the dead from the Unseelie King, and with Malcolm working with Iarlath, it wasn't a surprise that he had _some_ connections to the Court. If nothing else, Iarlath would've told Malcolm that he needed Fionn and Finnegan to be brought to the Court just in passing. At worst, his father had asked Malcolm directly and Malcolm had agreed willingly.

"I believe you're acquainted with Valaeyasha."

Fionn couldn't move his head of his own accord, but he saw the feet of a woman walk up to him through the darkness. Valaeyasha was the warlock, the memory one, he recalled. The one Malcolm had taken, controlled, put into a coma. If she was here, where was her family? The other Astrals? Were they even allowed to come here to help him?

"What…?" He tried to convey his message through a strained choke.

"If I want to control your weapon, all I need to do is harness your soul into a controllable state, Fionn. Now normally that's a difficult to near-impossible task, but Valaeyasha has shared with me many studies about being a memory-demon's child. A person's entire personality and history that shapes them into who they are is all contained within their memories. Valaeyasha mastered a method of storing memories within a physical sphere - which is necessary for powerful memory-wipes. That includes the equivalent of taming one's entire soul. Something like that is only possible for powerful demons, gods, and only the most skilled magic users. Luckily all I need to do is take the part of your soul that makes you '_Fionn._' You're familiar with this process, though you may not remember, obviously. Some don't come out _intact_, necessarily, but you've survived before, and you'll likely do so again."

Val knelt down and reached through the barrier around Fionn. She touched her hand to his forehead and he felt a sting of his memories being pulled forcefully to the surface.

_Interrogating Iarlath. His brother holding the knife as he forges the promise to kill him. Malcolm taking him prisoner_.

_Riding with the faerie convoy behind Gwyn, Iarlath, and Kieran. Seeing Finnegan and being threatened with his true name. Whipping Emma Carstairs. One. Two. Three. Four…_.

_The portholes flooded the convergence with water, sucking Fionn into the deep abyss, filled with pain and panic. Pulled to safety by Seline, reuniting with Finnegan only to have to flee from another Astral_.

_One of the Blackthorn children made a dessert. Fionn was proud of himself for a moment that he had managed to make one of them happy. He turned only to be attacked by what he could only assume was a dessert bomb. He wondered if this was what Shadowhunter children were taught - how to make a bomb out of even sweets. Finnegan's mixed shock and amusement shone through his eyes upon seeing Fionn, and Fionn could only say that he wasn't disappointed if getting ambushed by desert led to seeing that face_.

"No!"

Fionn moved to shove Val away, but the memory was already fading. Maybe he would've been fine with being erased completely, but he didn't want to have to lose every beautiful moment he'd had with Finnegan. As though he'd just woken from a dream, Finnegan's face quickly faded to a blur, and the harder he reached for it, the faster it seemed to slip away.

"Now, now, don't struggle _too_ much," Malcolm warned. "It'll only take longer and hurt more."

_Selina came close to finding out about Dearil_.

_Fionn ran with the other Astrals, only to be saved by Finnegan riding upon Zoltan, merged with the Astral's strength_.

_Finnegan helping him dress in a human tux, explaining his cuff links and the ways music was stored and read in two clefs_.

_"I love you, my Hunter, and that will not be the last time I speak the words. I promise."_  
_"I love you too. No matter what I'm supposed to call you."_  
_Fionn smiled. "There are far from enough options to become confused, dear Finnegan."_  
_The Shadowhunter shifted from behind him. "Stop flirting."_

"Don't…! Please don't take him…!" Fionn's eyes watered with tears as he tried to hold onto the memories. They were coming to him faster and faster, and the only things that he cared about preserving were the memories with Finnegan - which flashed by, one after another, and each time the next appeared, he lost his grip on the last.

_Finnegan hummed a tune as he drove and then began singing the words to 'Annabel Lee' as the lyrics, startled when he remembered Fionn was in the backseat listening_.

_Finnegan reciting the rhyme of the Shadowhunters and their color schemes_.

_Finnegan formally meeting Kieran, kissing Fionn right in front of his little brother to prove that he was devoted to him_.  
_Finnegan nearly bursting out into laughter learning his real name_.  
_Finnegan teaching him all the runes he knew_.

Fionn began muttering a string of '_I love you_'s, trying to hold on to everything he knew about Finnegan.

_The first time they had a conversation using their real names. Finnegan Scion. Meeting in the Sanctuary as they hid their former relations. Leaving when Iarlath of the Unseelie Court arrived, warning his friends that he would be under close watch. ScreamingatHunter; .ManipulatedtonearlybreakingFinnegan' .TrustingFinneganwithhistruenameSleepingwithhimforthefirsttimeandfightingSelinandMeridaupontheirfirstmeetingandgivingHunterhiself-boltandfirstmeetingFinneganinFaerieandhurtinghimandtheirfirstdateinthecityandtheirfirstkissandtheirfirstalmost-kissandFinnegan'sbeautifulsingingasFionnpulledhimoutofhisshellslowlyandtakinghimonZoltanforthefirsttimeloveconflictedhatredfearself-loathingconfusionwhatishefeelingwhathasthisNephilimgonethroughheiscrying…?_

_WhoisthisShadowhunter?_ Fionn had no idea why he was muttering about love.

"Once the wipe is complete, the most painful part will probably be reversing your demonic spell to return Dearil so that I can give you to the Unseelie King. I might as well give him a boon for all he's done for me, and while I'm taking your soul as Fionn away, there's no reason not to give him the leftover Dearil while I'm at it. I've prepared a spell using the Black Volume of the Dead-" He frowned and paused, as though listening to an invisible voice. "I'll be right back. I have to make a quick trip. Valaeyasha, by the time I'm back you should have finished the memory wipe so that I can transform him and then revive my Annabel."

Valaeyasha didn't say anything, but she reached out and continued as Malcolm exited the convergence.

* * *

"Concentrate!"

"I'm _trying!_ Stop shouting at me!"

'**_If you don't hurry it up, I'm going to electrocute you!_**'

"You shut up too!"

Finnegan focused as best he could while on horseback with Selina holding onto him from behind. Without a bridle, Zoltan was mostly self-sufficient when it came to controls, and Finnegan had once managed to connect to him, but now he wasn't able to figure out how to do that. As far as Finnegan was aware, Zoltan was the only one who could activate their connection. Though Finnegan _could_ connect with Astrals, Zoltan had initiated their former connection back at the Midnight Theater, and Finnegan had no idea how to do the same in reverse - he was _told_ that he was dangerous because he could force Astrals to bend to his will, but at the moment he didn't even know how to _start_. Yet his friends were trying to get him to test out the skill while they were in a low-stakes battle.

Kieran and Mark were riding on the back of the gorgeous white stallion that was Windspear. The sky was bare of clouds, and the moonlight was sharp and silver as a knife. It outlined Mark and Kieran, turned then into the brilliantly illuminated outlines of faerie knights. Neither of them looked human. Selina's hair shimmered from her icy blonde to glowing white under the glow of the moonlight. The crescent birthmark on her shoulder glowed with a light blue-lavender shimmer - exposed because she'd removed her jacket in the battle.

The defenses around the convergence had been upped after Fionn had eliminated the Mantid demons that one time. Now, along with Mantids, there were dozens of other species as well. Luckily Selina had a boost because of the night time and the exposed moonlight and they were by the sea. She worked with Zoltan better than Finn did, who was pretty much just riding the steed and holding on for dear life while occasionally slicing a seraph blade at anything that came near. He couldn't exactly play an instrument with Zoltan zipping around at high speeds making him dizzy.

The two of them weren't the only Astrals on the battlefield. Andraeus wasn't at his strongest at night, but he was still a warlock underneath the Helian within and he could fight well enough. Ace/Aaron had traveled to the convergence on his own without needing the steeds - only giving the excuse for the Blackthorns' sake. He didn't do a lot of moving, just teleporting with his card Portals and throwing cards with varying effects - from just straight up slicing through a demon to having tactical effects like putting them to sleep, blinding them, blowing them up, burning, freezing, making them attack other demons or just running away in terror. Sometimes his cards summoned things like monsters or weapons for a single attack before they disappeared.

Maxine wasn't an Astral, but her telekinetic powers were nothing to scoff at. She was ripping demons apart and keeping track of everyone on the battlefield if she needed help or to help. For the most part, she was standing at the entrance to the convergence - which for some reason was closed despite it being night. Malcolm must have closed it now that he'd gotten the final keys for his spell. Max was focusing her efforts on the stone wall blocking the entrance with Laura covering her from behind, stomping and smashing with thunderous blows at anything that came near. She was projecting a simple battle rhythm around her, keeping herself focused and destroying any demons that came close to a catchy beat.

Finnegan was trying to connect to Seline's power, which they said should be easiest because they had been raised together and had become parabatai - he should be adjusted to Seline's energy signature. On top of that, Seline's power was increased because of the night and the moon shining down unimpeded.

That theory didn't do anything to help him now.

"It's not working!"

She sighed. "Let's just try me giving you a connection so you can maybe tug on it."

She put her hand on his shoulder and gripped him tightly. He felt a spark of energy that made his muscles twitch, but he didn't exactly feel a catch or anything to tug on. He tried to prevent himself from spasming out and keeping control of his muscles, and he managed to hold his hand up and command the energy to eject in the direction he aimed. He actually hadn't expected it to do anything, and so he ended up nearly hitting Andraeus by accident.

"Hey, watch it!" Andy shouted.

"Well, you blasted a light moonbeam," Selina noted. "We'll work on it."

By the time the battlefield had cleared out, covered in ichor and demon guts that Andy was burning away, the L.A. Institute's Toyota pulled in and came to a stop. The field that reached to the bluff lay deceptively peaceful under the moonlight now that the battle had stalled. The wide space of sea grass and sage bushes moved with soft rustles and the granite hill rose above it all.

"The convergence - it's closed," Emma exclaimed.

"Almost got it," Max assured them. She pulled at the wall and tugged the large rock out of the doorway, throwing it to the side. "Tada! Let's hurry. Val's down there."

Laura sighed. "Breaking _so_ many rules. Whelp, while we're on a role! The Fates are already out for our heads, so let's at least go out with a bang!"

"We'll clear a path down there, disable the wards and traps," Andy said.

"Is Veon with you?" Selina asked.

Max pursed her lips. "He was guarding over Val when Malcolm took control of her again…"

"And we've tracked Val here," Laura continued. "Not sure if Malcolm is also here at the moment, but the convergence has certainly shifted. He has more defenses, no doubt, and maybe some of his Followers. But we need to take this chance while Malcolm's out."

"Arm up and meet us down there," Ace ordered.

He, Max, Andy, and Laura hurried down the dark space in the wall.

"We killed many demons," Mark said. "Cleared the way."

Kieran sat glowering, his face half-hidden by dark hair. Mark had his hands on Kieran's belt, steadying himself. As if suddenly recollecting this, Mark let go and slid to the ground.

"We'd better go in," Mark said, tipping his face up to Kieran's. "You and Windspear stand guard."

"But I-"

"This is Blackthorn family business," Mark snapped in a tone that brooked no argument. Kieran looked towards Cristina, Diego, and Finnegan, opened his mouth as if to voice a protest, and then closed it again.

Selina glanced over her shoulder as shadows began to warp in the distance. "We've got more company," she announced. "Malcolm's forces are likely to continue at least until he's gotten back to revive Annabel. Zoltan and I will stay out here to help you, Kieran. We will cover the rest of you."

Finnegan slid off the horse and glanced towards Kieran. The fey shot him a hard look which Finn didn't need to be an expert on to know that Kieran was warning him to get his brother back safely or he'd bust down the convergence with Windspear himself.

"Weapons check, everyone," Julian said. "Then we head in."

Everyone obediently checked their belts and gear. Ty fished an extra seraph blade out of the car trunk while Mark looked over Dru's gear, reminding her again that her job was to stay behind them and to stick close to the others.

Emma unbuckled her arm guard and rolled up her sleeve, requesting an Endurance rune from Julian. She was already marked with runes for courage and accuracy, runes for precision and healing. The Angel had never really given the Shadowhunters runes for emotional pain, though - there were no runes to mend grief or a broken heart. Mourning runes were mostly symbolic, and that was probably the closest thing to handling grief that the runes got. It made sense, perhaps - it was emotion that made them human, made them different from regular angels themselves who could so rarely intervene in the mortal world. She should feel honored, some stuck-up Shadowhunter might say, to have the stinging bite of emotional pain prove she was human.

The idea that Emma's parents' death had been a failed experiment, a pointless throwaway, hurt more than Emma could've imagined. She had thought all these years they had died for some reason, but it was no reason at all. They had simply been the only Shadowhunter available. Endurance. She would have to endure this, this knowledge, fight past and through it. Do it for Tavvy, she thought. For Julian. For all of them. And maybe at the end of it, she would have her revenge.

Julian lowered his hand. His eyes were wide. The Mark blazed against her skin, infused with a brightness she had never seen before, as if the edges of it were burning. She drew her sleeve down quickly, not wanting anyone else to notice, but Finn caught Selina eyeing Emma suspiciously. He'd have to ask her about what that was all about when he got the chance.

At the edge of the bluff, Kieran's white horse reared up against the moon. Zoltan whined and stomped, turning towards the forming demons that were rebuilding their numbers.

"Go," Selina ordered. "We will cover you."

The sea crashed in the distance and the moon shimmered against Selina's hair, turning it into rays of moonlight itself.

As the two riders charged towards the approaching demons, the Shadowhunters marched towards the opening in the rock.

Emma and Julian led the way into the cavern, with Finnegan and Mark bringing up the rear, sandwiching the others between them. As before, the tunnel was narrow at first, the ground tumbled with uneven pebbles. The rocks were disturbed now, many of them kicked aside. Even in the dimness, none of them reached for their witchlights - they could see where the moss growing along the cave wall had been clawed at by human fingers.

"People came through here earlier," Emma murmured.

"Didn't those other guys come through to clear the way for us?" Livvy asked.

"Yes, but this was a lot more people," Finnegan said. He lined his hand up with some of the moss and moved it around to line up with different heights and hand sizes. "Dozens."

"Followers?" Julian's voice was low.

"Most likely."

Finnegan was cold, the good sort of cold, the battle cold that came from your stomach and spread outwards. The cold that sharpened your eyes and seemed to slow time around you, so that you had infinite hours to correct the sweep of a seraph blade, the angle of a sword.

"Almost got it," someone said lightly up ahead.

Emma and Julian carefully crept forward, but upon seeing Finnegan's friends who had gone ahead of them, they…well, they didn't relax, but they didn't _attack_ anyway.

"Malcolm's got a lot of warding," Laura reported. "Luckily the three of us can get past his magic alone."

"No promises that Malcolm won't feel when we take down his defenses," Max added.

"This is the final barrier," Andraeus reported. "Ready yourselves."

The energy wall before him flashed and then dissipated. They continued down the short corridor before coming out into the high-ceilinged cavern. Everyone crowded into the room.

"Val!" Max exclaimed.

"Where?" Finnegan glanced around the dark room. He could barely see anything. He took out his witchlight and illuminated the area.

In front of them was a stone table with Tavvy chained upon it, a metal bowl and Fionn's knife beside the young boy. But Finnegan didn't see any sign of Valaeyasha - and no sign of Fionn either.

"Max-" But when Finnegan glanced over to where Maxine had been, the warlock was gone. In fact, Andy and Laura were missing too. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, but a moment later, he forgot what he had been thinking about. "What the…?"

Something was wrong, but Finnegan couldn't remember what it was.

"Tavvy!" Livvy cried out her brother's name and lunged forward. Julian caught hold of her, hauling her back. She struggled incredulously against his grip. "We need to save him," she hissed. "We have to go to him-"

"There's a protection circle," Julian hissed back. "Drawn around him on the floor. If you step through it, it could kill you."

Finnegan walked up and knelt before the circle's edge. He hadn't paid much attention whenever Veon had gone on rants about how certain potions and spells worked, but Veon _had_ managed to teach him some things. While Shadowhunter training taught the basics about spells and mixtures, Finnegan knew some special cases with Veon's help.

"Special Diamond Dust," he recognized. It was some of the rare items that Veon had bragged about once - obtained only from surviving an encounter with the Faerie gods, just like Hellfire but made from the Glacian's power rather than the Infernian's. "Will freeze you to death easily, potent enough to overwhelm most basic magics. Only Hellfire can get past it. It _must_ be being used to keep Fionn from escaping. Malcolm must've stolen this stuff from Veon - it's _extremely_ rare, and I've only ever seen Veon have some. But where _is_ Fionn?"

In the back of his mind, Finnegan had a feeling that they'd come with a plan for strong magical warding, but he couldn't recall what it was.

As Finn was wracking his brain, someone murmuring softly. Cristina, whispering a prayer.

Mark had stiffened. "Be quiet," he said. "Someone's coming."

Finnegan quickly made his way back as he joined the Blackthorns in melting back into the shadows - even Livvy, who had not stopped struggling. Finn's witchlight winked out.

A figure had appeared out of the darkness. Someone in a long black robe, a hood hiding their face. A tall someone with hands sheathed in black gloves. Malcolm?

The figure approached the table, and the protection circle opened like a lock, runes and the glittering Diamond Dust vanishing and fading with a small wave of flame until there was a gap to step through. As the gap opened, Finnegan saw the hint of purple flames peek through, as if the barrier opening was releasing a glamour around the stone table. Head down, the figure came closer to Tavvy. And closer. Finnegan could feel the Blackthorns around him, their fear like a living thing. He knew how badly they wanted to throw themselves forward, risk the circle, grab Tavvy and run.

Finnegan burst forward and slid through the break in the protection circle, feeling a wave of cold around him as he passed but making it safely. He prepared to confront the hooded figure in a fight, but then Livvy broke away from Julian and burst into the cavern.

"No! Step away from my brother, or I'll kill you, I'll kill you-!"

The figure froze. Finn hid at the base of the stone table and crept around its edge. He felt bad for making Livvy a distraction, but once he was inside the protection circle he could see the violet flames of Malcolm's magic in full. It was a ring of fire behind the altar with Tavvy and as Finnegan crept around the other side, he finally spotted the faerie within - along with the battle that was ensuing between Valaeyasha, Andraeus, and Maxine beyond the barrier. Lying defeated were Veon and Laura - the latter of which was clutching her head and kicking her feet causing small tremors and sparking with electricity.

Finn hadn't been able to see it outside the circle, but that was probably because of Val's memory powers causing them to disappear. Finnegan was amazed that Max and Andy were holding out as long as they were with Val literally able to make them forget their entire reason for being there, but perhaps it was because they were Val's family that they had come with preparations.

Finnegan didn't dwell on it, instead opting to rush to the ring of fire that surrounded Fionn, collapsed within. Finnegan had thought he was fire-proof, but he wouldn't be surprised if Malcolm had specifically enchanted the flames against Fionn. Ignoring how all of that made only half sense, Finnegan held his hand up and felt a barrier.

"Fionn," he whispered. "Fionn!"

The faerie didn't stir.

He glanced up at Val's battle where she was being driven back. Max shoved Val back against the cavern wall, but she kicked her foot and sent a wave of energy at them. Andy caught and absorbed it, running to his wife while Max strained to hold her back. Finnegan recalled that Seline had heard Val was over 2000 years old, so if she got anything close to more powerful as she aged, he realized just how dangerous a threat she probably was - which was why Malcolm was quick to manipulate her onto his side when she started to get involved with his case.

Finn turned back towards the hooded figure. Slowly, it raised its head. Its hood fell back, and long, curling black hair spilled out. A familiar koi tattoo glimmered against brown skin. "Livvy?"

"Diana?" Ty spoke, voicing his sister's disbelief. Livvy was stricken silent.

Diana jerked away from the table, staring. "By the Angel," she breathed. "How many of you are here?"

It was Julian who spoke. His voice was level, though Finn could feel the effort it took to keep it that way. Diego was leaning forward, his eyes narrow. _Jace Herondale and the Lightwoods were betrayed by their own tutor_. "All of us," Julian said.

"Even Dru? You don't understand how dangerous this is - Julian, you have to get everyone out of here."

"Not without Tavvy," Emma snapped. "Diana, what the hell are you doing? You told us you were in Thailand."

"If she was, no one at the Bangkok Institute knew about it," Diego said. "I checked."

"You lied to us." Emma remembered Iarlath saying: '_Foolish Shadowhunters, too naïve to even know who you can trust_.' Had he meant Malcolm or Diana? "And you've barely been here, this whole investigation, like you were hiding something from us-"

Diana recoiled. "Emma, no, it's not like that."

"Then what _is_ it like? Because I can't imagine what possible reason you could have for being here-"

There was a noise. Approaching footsteps, from the shadows. Diana flung out a hand. "Get back - get away-"

Julian grabbed for Livvy, hauling his sister back into the shadows just as Malcolm appeared. Finnegan hid behind the stone table, staring up at the battle as Val knocked Max back. While Val was released from Max's hold, Andy straight up tackled her.

"Valaeyasha have you-?"

Malcolm looked as he always did. A bit scruffy in jeans and a white linen jacket that matched his hair. In his hand he carried a large black book, tied with a leather strap.

"It _is_ you," Diana whispered.

Malcolm glanced up at the scuffle with Val, clearly able to see it, and then looked at Diana calmly. "Diana Wrayburn. Now, now. I didn't expect to see you here. I rather thought you'd run away."

Diana faced him. "I don't run."

He seemed to look at her again, to see how close she was to Tavvy. He frowned. "Step away from the boy."

Diana didn't move.

"Do it," he demanded, tucking the Black Volume into his jacket. "He's nothing to you, anyway. You're not a Blackthorn."

"I'm his tutor. He has grown up in my care."

"Oh, come now. If you'd cared about those children, you'd have taken the post as head of the Institute years ago. But I suppose we all know why you didn't do that."

Malcolm grinned. It transformed his whole face. If there were any lingering doubts about his guilt, about the story Kieran had told, they vanished in that moment. His mobile, amusing features seemed to harden. There was cruelty in that smile, framed against a backdrop of echoing, depthless loss.

A flare went up from the table, a burst of fire. Diana cried out and stumbled back, out of the circle of protection. Finnegan flinched and held up his arms in a defensive motion, but he was thrown not from heat but from a simple hard shove. He was thrown into the fiery barrier around Fionn, and to his surprise he was let inside. He hit the other side of the circle and hit a hard barrier - and on top of that the flames burnt his back. He had a Fire Elemental Resistance rune on, but that still didn't stop him from feeling the heat as he collapsed beside Fionn. The circle of protection sealed itself up behind Diana as she was thrown out, the Diamond Dust line returning. She hurled herself to her feet and threw herself towards Tavvy, but this time the circle held fast; she bounced off it as if off a glass wall, the force sending her staggering back.

"No human thing can cross that barrier," Malcolm said. "I'm guessing you had a charm to get you through the first time, but it won't work again. You should have stayed away." He held up his hand and Finnegan was bound by invisible restraints. "And I suppose it was inevitable that taking Phoenix would draw the attention of the gods. I had expected a bigger force, I admit. I'd assumed you'd at least have been strong enough to defeat the forces outside."

_Selina_. Had she and Zoltan failed? Or were they still holding the line? Malcolm had to have passed them at least…

Finnegan took the opportunity to shuffle over to Fionn and tried to shake him by throwing his body against him. "Fionn. Fionn! Fionn Flann!"

He still didn't respond, but his nose crinkled ever so slightly as he lightly stirred.

Malcolm waved his hand and Veon's scales flashed. He stood, his pupils slit lit a lizard's and his scales spreading across his body.

"Zytaveon…?"

The scaled warlock launched at the struggling Val and Andy, tearing them apart and throwing Andraeus to the ground, holding him down. Andy flailed and kicked at Veon, grabbing the warlock's wrists and summoning an orange glow to his hands. Veon recoiled as his hands were burnt, but Val launched to grab Andy's temples and summon a glow to her fingertips. Andy fought for a few seconds, but was quickly overpowered and went limp. When Val finally released her hands from Andy, the glow on her fingertips coalesced into a glowing sphere that Finnegan realized was familiar - a memory sphere. Fionn had used the technique once before to remove a small memory when he'd accidentally learned Finnegan's name while they were trying to be anonymous. Rather than swirling red wisps within the orb, these were glowing orange-yellow like the glow of the sun.

Veon turned his attention from them to the struggling Laura while Val went over to Max and simply knocked her out the old fashioned way. Val and Veon repeated the same technique with Laura, holding her down and then extracting a pale silver sphere this time. Finnegan had a fleeting concern about where Ace had gone, but he was glad that he wasn't here at the moment. Now Finnegan understood that Val was an extremely powerful defense against Astrals - maybe she couldn't kill them, but she could certainly debilitate them beyond effectiveness.

"Stop it, you bastard!" Finnegan snapped.

"Valaeyasha, do you have Fionn's sphere?" Malcolm asked instead.

Val stood from Laura and nodded, holding up a shimmering red sphere. Veon was simply sitting at her side, eyes darting around like a twitchy lizard. His scales were slowly beginning to overtake his skin.

That explained why Fionn wasn't responsive - he'd probably been wiped clean by Val.

"You can't possibly hope for success, Malcolm," Diana gasped. She was clutching her left arm with her right; the skin looked burned. "If you kill a Shadowhunter, the Nephilim will hunt you down for the rest of your days."

"They hunted me two hundred years ago. They killed _her_." The throb of emotion in his voice was something they'd never heard before. "And we had done nothing. _Nothing_. I do not fear them, their unjust justice or unlawful laws."

Finnegan sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. "Malcolm, your pain is real. No one's saying it isn't; no one here is saying that it's wrong to feel enraged at what happened. _I'm_ enraged by it, I'm enraged by a _lot_ of things about the Shadowhunters and the Clave. But why do others have to be dragged into this - your _friends_ Malcolm!"

"My friends? My _friends?_ You don't know _anything_ if you dare to call them my _friends!_"

"We understand your pain, Malcolm," Diana said carefully. "But-"

"Do you? Do you understand, Diana Wrayburn?" he snarled - but then his voice softened. "Maybe you do. You both have known the injustice and intolerance of the Clave. If only you hadn't come here - it's the Blackthorns I despise, not the Wrayburns, not the Scions. I always rather liked you, Diana."

"You liked me because you thought I was too frightened of the Clave to look closely at you," Diana said, turning away from him. "To suspect you."

For a moment, she faced Emma and the others. She mouthed _RUN_ at them silently, before turning back to Malcolm. Emma didn't budge, but she did hear a movement behind her. It was quiet; if she hadn't been wearing a rune that sharpened her hearing, it would have been inaudible. To her surprise, the movement was Julian, disappearing from her side. Mark was next to him. Silently, they slipped back into the tunnel. Emma wanted to call after Julian - what was he doing? - but she couldn't, not without alerting Malcolm. Malcolm was still moving towards Diana; in a moment he'd be where he could see them. She put a hand to the hilt of Cortana. Ty was gripping a knife, white-knuckled; Livvy held her saber, her face set and determined.

"Why Fionn?!" Finnegan snapped. "His knife couldn't have possibly been in play hundreds of years ago - he's not even a century old!"

Malcolm paused and turned back towards the protection circle. "You wish to know the truth? It wasn't _me_ who wanted your precious Seelie. It was Iarlath who informed me of his weapon and its properties, how it would bolster the effectiveness of my spell. In return for Iarlath and the Unseelie King's mutual assistance, I agreed to return someone called Dearil to the Court. It took some investigating to figure out that Fionn was the key to returning Dearil into play, and it wasn't long after that Iarlath updated that you, Finnegan, were also needed. It was a sudden development, but it wasn't anything difficult in the long run. Not after all I've had to go through to revive my Annabel. Using Valaeyasha was the key to preventing the pesky Astrals that I was warned about from intervention."

He nodded towards Val, her eyes glassy and blank.

"Valaeyasha and Zytaveon were my greatest threats, and so I've had to take caution with them for many years now. I've been fully prepared for this day for far longer than you can comprehend. It's nothing personal against you, Finnegan. I actually appreciate you. By coincidence or fate, you fell in love with the faerie that the Unseelie King happened to need. You might have made an ally, had things been different. Fionn's fate was already doomed, his tragedies brought upon himself, burden after burden. If nothing else, I'm saving him from the curses he enacted."

"What…? What do you…?"

"The demonic spell that transformed Fionn sucks away at his life force constantly at an accelerated rate. He required Veon to make him potions that would help him at regular intervals. If he were to run out of magic and energy levels, he is supposed to die. But with the curse of his weapon in play, he will be kept alive - barely, in a state of eternal agony until he is properly killed. By using Valaeyasha to extract Fionn's personality into a sphere, I can wield his weapon and I can strip him of the demonic ritual that transformed him. I'm saving him from a far worse fate, believe me."

"Only to hand him over to the Unseelie King?"

"The Unseelie King only wants Fionn's blessings. He likely won't treat you badly. I knew that you'd come here for Fionn with the help of those Astrals you associate with; believe me, I had no intention of harming you or angering the gods. Valaeyasha is the key to making all of this as painless as possible, and Veon was just a backup if things got violent. If only Diana hadn't come too. She hadn't been working with you, I was sure." Malcolm returned his attention to Diana. "Who told you? Was it Rook? I didn't think he'd guessed." He tipped his head to the side. "No. You weren't sure when you got here. You suspected…" His mouth turned down at the corners. "It was Catarina, wasn't it?"

Diana stood with her feet apart, her head back. A warrior stance. "When the second line of the poem was deciphered and I heard the phrase 'Blackthorn blood,' I realized that we weren't searching for a killer of mundanes and faeries. That this was about the Blackthorn family. And there is no one more likely to know about a grudge that goes back years than Catarina. I went to her."

"And you couldn't tell the Blackthorns where you went because of the reason you know Catarina. She's a nurse - a nurse to mundanes. Safer than Fionn's methods, at least. How do you think I found out-?"

"She didn't tell you about me, Malcolm," Diana snapped. "She keeps secrets. What she told me about you was simply what she knew - that you'd loved a Nephilim girl and that she'd become an Iron Sister. She never questioned the story because as far as she knew, you'd never questioned the story either. But once she told me that, I was able to check with the Iron Sisters. No Nephilim girl with that story had become one of them. And once I realized _that_ was a lie, the rest began to come together. I remembered what Emma had told us about what she'd found here, the clothes, the candelabra. Catarina told me that Veon was said to know the whole story - the rest of the story, the _truth_ about it - but he had thought that you'd tried to become a better person and move _past_ this. But he was the one most likely to put the pieces together that you hadn't, that you were doing something like this, which lined up with why he was the first one you worked to corrupt and silence. Catarina went to the Spiral Labyrinth and I came here-"

"So Catarina gave you the charm to get you through the protection circle - even with the special ingredients I took from Zytaveon," Malcolm concluded. "Unfortunate that you wasted it. Did you have a plan or did you rush here in a panic?"

Diana said nothing. Her face looked carved out of stone.

"Always have a plan. I, for one, have been crafting my current plan for years. And now here you are, the proverbial fly in the ointment. I suppose there's nothing to do but kill you, though I hadn't planned to, and exposing you to the Clave would have been so much more fun-"

Something silver bloomed from Diana's hand. A sharp-pointed throwing star. It whipped towards Malcolm; one moment he was in its path, the next he was across the room. The throwing star hit the wall of the cave and tumbled to the ground, where it lay glimmering.

Malcolm made a hissing noise, like an angry cat. Sparks flew from his fingers.

"Diana!" Finnegan thrashed with his invisible magic restraints.

Diana was lifted up into the air and flung back against the wall, then to the floor, her arms clamping themselves to her sides. She rolled into a sitting position, but when she tried to stand, her knees crumbled under her. She thrashed at her invisible bonds.

"You won't be able to move," Malcolm said in a bored voice. "You're paralyzed. Even if you managed to break free, I've still got Zytaveon and Valaeyasha under my control. They managed to take down people blessed with the power of the gods, so I wouldn't call you a threat. I could have killed you instantly, of course, but well, this is quite a trick I'm about to perform and every trick needs an audience." He smiled suddenly. "I suppose I shouldn't forget the audience I have. It's just that they aren't very lively."

Suddenly the cavern was alive with light. The thick shadows behind the stone table dissolved, and now it could be seen that the cavern reached back and back - there were long rows of seats set up, like church pews, neat and orderly, and the seats were filled with people.

"Followers," Finnegan muttered. It was strange to know that Malcolm had led all these people, that he had had such power over them that they did anything for him - Malcolm, who they'd all thought of as a foolish figure, someone who tied his own shoelaces together.

'_Never trust an immortal,_' Veon had once warned Finn. '_You'd be surprised at how good we get at acting over the years - acting like everything's okay after so many centuries of loss. Every immortal has lost or will lose. The happier we look, the more we're trying to cover up._'

The Followers sat very still, their eyes wide open, their hands in their laps, like rows of dolls. Finnegan recognized Belinda and some of the others who had come to retrieve Sterling. Their heads were tilted to the side - a gesture of interest, Finn thought, until he realized how awkward the angle was and knew that it wasn't fascination that kept them so still. It was that their necks were broken.

Malcolm strode into the circle. He was standing close to Tavvy's feet, which looked bare and vulnerable in the light. He reached out to the draped object standing at the foot of the table and twitched the cloth off it. It was the candelabra that Emma had mentioned when she'd come here the first time and nearly drowned, the brass one that had been bare of candles. It had become a far more macabre thing. Onto each spiked point was jammed a severed hand, wrist down. Rigid, dead fingers reached for the ceiling. One hand bore a ring with a flashy pink stone - Sterling's hand.

"You sick fucker," Finn snapped.

"Do you know what this is?" Malcolm asked, a gloating note in his voice. "Do you, Diana?"

Diana looked up. Her face was swollen and bloody. She spoke in a croaking whisper. "Hands of Glory."

Malcolm looked pleased. "It took me quite a long time to figure out that this was what I needed. This is why my attempt with the Carstairs family didn't work. The spell called for mandrake, and it was a long time before I realized that the word 'mandrake' was meant to stand in for _main de gloire_ \- a Hand of Glory." He smiled with keen pleasure. "The darkest of dark magic."

"Because of the way they're made," Diana said. "They're murderers' hands. The hands of killers. Only a hand that has taken a human life can become a Hand of Glory."

In the chaos that had been Selina figuring out everything with the rest of the Astrals, Finnegan should've seen it coming. The murder victims were a mix of humans and faeries with no key traits shared between them - it was because the victims never mattered. Malcolm didn't want victims, he wanted murderers. It was why the Followers needed Sterling back - and why Belinda cut off his hands and left with them. And why Malcolm had let her when he had shown up at the Institute to 'protect' them from the Followers. He needed the murderer's hands, the hands they'd killed with, so he could do this. Belinda took both of the hands that day because she didn't know which one he'd killed with - and she couldn't ask.

"This is wrong, Malcolm." Diana's voice was choked but steady. "I've spent days talking to those who've known you for years. Catarina Loss. Magnus Bane. Even Zytaveon Bane, he believed in you even knowing what you figured out about Annabel - he believed you'd become good even knowing the truth, that you'd used your pain to become better. They all said you were a good, likable man. That can't all be lies."

"Lies?" Malcolm's voice rose. "You want to talk about lies? They lied to me about Annabel. They said she had become an Iron Sister. All of them told me the same lie: Magnus, Catarina, Zytaveon, Tessa. It was from a faerie I found out that they had lied. From a faerie I learned what really happened to Annabel. By then she was long dead. The Blackthorns, murdering their own!"

"That was generations back," Finnegan pleaded. "The boy you have chained to that table never knew Annabel. These are not the people who hurt you, Malcolm. These are not the people who took Annabel from you. They're innocent."

"No one is innocent!" Malcolm shouted. "She was a Blackthorn! Annabel Blackthorn! She loved me, and they took her - they took her and walled her up and she died there in the tomb. They did that to me and I do not forgive! I will _never_ forgive!" He took a deep breath, clearly forcing himself to be calm. "Thirteen Hands of Glory. And Blackthorn blood. That will bring her back, and she will be with me again."

He turned away from Diana, towards Tavvy, and held his hand out to Val. She tossed him the sphere with Fionn's memories, and upon touching it, the red wisps of energy flared within. Malcolm picked up the cursed knife with the black blade and it flared and responded.

The tension in the tunnel was sudden and silent and explosive. Hands reached for weapons, grips tightened on hilts, Diego raised his ax. Five pairs of eyes turned on Emma for the command.

"She will never forgive you for this Malcolm!" Finnegan shouted, struggling against his restraints as Malcolm raised the knife. It shimmered, strangely luminescent and beautiful. "Reviving the dead is unnatural - she'll hate you for putting her in so much pain bringing her back!" It was a desperate move that he didn't even completely know what he was talking about. Maybe it was his dreams about dying with Phoenix so many times that made him speak with conviction. "At best she'll be traumatized forever! At least in death she was at peace, but you're torturing her by reviving her from eternal slumber!"

Malcolm paused only a fraction of a second from Finnegan's outburst. He wasn't stopping. Finn tried to wake Fionn - maybe he could stop the knife somehow!

They exploded out of the tunnel: Ty and Livvy and Emma and Cristina, all of them, Diego rushing straight for Malcolm.

For a split second, Malcolm looked surprised. Fionn's blade, held high, suddenly exploded from his hand as though he had been shot. It clanged against the stone floor, and Malcolm looked towards Val, who was holding her hand up towards him. The sphere of Fionn's memories was flaring in Malcolm's hand, Val having used it to throw the blade it controlled away. Val's eyes were blown wide, her eyes watering as her hand trembled. The glowing orange sphere of her husband's memories was clutched tightly in her other hand.

"Andy…" A tear escaped from her left eye. The sphere in her hand pulsed with her husband's memories.

Malcolm stared down at the fallen weapon, then back up at the Blackthorns and their friends - and began laughing. He stood, laughing, in the center of the protection circle, as they rushed at him - and one by one were slammed backwards by the force of the invisible protective wall. Diego swung his battle-ax. The ax glanced off the air as if it had struck steel and recoiled backwards, a layer of ice crawling up the weapon.

"Surround Malcolm!" Emma shouted. "He can't stay in that protective area forever! Circle him!"

They spread out, surrounding the protective runes on the floor. Even now, Malcolm's betrayal was incomprehensible to most of them, and they'd had a clear view of just what kind of betrayal people were capable of when they'd watched the Clave exile Helen and abandon Mark.

Val threw her hand forward and Veon's half-lizard state turned its eyes onto Malcolm. He dived for the barrier and landed on the dome, frost brimming to life against his skin as he pushed to tear through the enchanted protection.

"Turning my powers against me," Val whimpered, "making me hurt my friends, family, my _husband_…" She reared her hand back and shoved it forward again, causing Veon's scales to flare as he burst into green flames to melt the frost threatening to consume him from the Diamond Dust barrier. "When I get in there, I'll make sure you remember _nothing_ about Annabel Blackthorn! I will show you the pain of losing the memories of your love - I will _end_ this, Malcolm!"

"You'll be forced out of there eventually," Emma growled. "And when you are-"

Malcolm bent and seized the knife from the floor. When he straightened up, his eyes were the color of bruises. "When I _am_, you'll be dead," he spat, and whirled to reach out a hand towards the rows of the dead. "Rise!" he called. "My Followers, rise!"

There was a series of groans and creaks. Throughout the cave the dead Followers began to stand. They moved neither unusually slowly nor unusually quickly, but they moved with steady determination. They did not seem to be armed, but as they neared the main chamber, Belinda - her eyes blank and empty, her head cocked to the side - flung herself at Cristina. Her fingers were bent into claws, and before Cristina could react, Belinda had torn bloody gashes down the side of her face.

With a cry of disgust, Cristina shoved the corpse away from her, slashing her butterfly knife across Belinda's throat. It made no difference. Belinda stood up again, the wound in her throat bloodless and flapping, and swung towards Cristina. Before she could take more than a single step there was a flash of silver. Diego's ax sang out, whipping forward, severing Belinda's head from her neck. The headless body sank to the ground. The wound still wasn't bleeding; it looked cauterized.

"Behind you!" Cristina shouted.

Diego whirled. Behind him two other Followers were reaching to grab and claw at them. He spun in a swift arc, his ax taking both their heads with it.

There was a noise behind Emma. Instantly she calculated where the Follower behind her was; she leaped, spun, kicked, and knocked him back. It was the clarinetist with the curly hair. She stabbed downwards with Cortana, severing his head from his body. She thought of him winking at her in the Midnight Theater. "**_I never knew his name,_**" she thought, and then whirled back around.

Val thrust her one hand out towards the approaching Followers, but in doing so Veon went limp fighting against the barrier. She had only one hand, gripping tightly to the memories - the soul - of her husband. It was probably the only thing keeping her in control of herself. She managed to blast away the Followers coming towards her, but all she did was knock them back with an explosion before she refocused her efforts on making Veon break through the barrier and pulling at Fionn's soul to prevent Malcolm from finishing the job against Tavvy. Malcolm actively fought against the blade moving on its own, but with Val's attention split between bringing down the barrier, preventing Tavvy's death, and avoiding the attacking Followers, Malcolm was coming too close for comfort to getting what he wanted.

The room was in chaos. Just as Malcolm must have wanted, the Shadowhunters had abandoned the perimeter of the protection circle to ward off the Followers.

"Protect Valaeyasha!" Emma shouted. "Buy her the time to break through the barrier! She's the only one keeping Tavvy alive!"

Malcolm seized up the candelabra with the Hands of Glory on it and carried it to the head of the table. He set it down beside Tavvy, who slept on, a rosy flush on his cheeks. Malcolm easily figured out that so long as Val's attention was split, he wasn't far from getting what he needed, and so he didn't seem too worried about what was going on around him.

Dru had run to Diana and was struggling to help her get to her feet. As a Follower approached them, Dru whipped around and ran the woman through with her blade. Emma saw her swallow as the body crumpled and realized it was the first time Dru had killed someone in battle - even if that someone was already dead.

Malcolm pulled out a second blade, a copper knife that was entirely under his control. He placed the tip of it against Tavvy's throat and sliced downwards, slitting open the little boy's Batman T-shirt. The worn cotton curled open, revealing his thin, vulnerable chest. Val kicked a Follower away from her and then tugged on Fionn's knife as hard as she could, causing Malcolm to stagger back as the weapon pulled him along.

Malcolm grunted and threw his hand out towards Val herself, who was knocked back by an invisible blast. She held fast to the sphere belonging to her husband, but it nearly fell from her hand and she diverted her attention to grab it before it rolled away. Val strained as she fought her own body, and Veon completely stopped fighting to break down the barrier. Val was forced to aim him towards the Followers that were descending upon her, and while Veon was staggeringly efficient at ripping the Followers to shreds, Val couldn't move from her location and turning Veon back to the barrier was becoming more of a struggle from her new vulnerable position.

Livvy was fighting gloriously, feinting and parrying with her saber, driving Followers towards Ty. He was carrying a seraph blade, one that blazed brightly in his grip. As a blond Follower lurched into him, he drove the blade into the back of the dead man's neck. There was a searing, crackling noise as the seraph blade met flesh and the Follower began to burn. He staggered away, clawing at his burning flesh, before tumbling to the ground.

"Seraph blades!" Emma called. "Everyone! Use your seraph blades! Val get back to work!"

Lights blazed up through the cavern and Emma heard the murmur of voices calling the names of angels. Jophiel, Rameil, Duma. The Shadowhunters dashed to hold the line and push back the Followers away from Val.

The Shadowhunters descended on Val's location as the warlock turned Veon back to the protection circle.

"Too late, Valaeyasha," Malcolm muttered. He had control of Fionn's blade and swung down to strike Octavian Blackthorn.

Thunderous hooves. A sound pierced the room, something between a howl and the crash of an enormous bell. It bounced off the walls, a brutal echo, and even Malcolm looked up. Windspear and Zoltan exploded from the mouth of the tunnel.

Selina sat on Zoltan, eyes glowing with the power of the moon. Kieran sat behind her, hair shimmering blue-green as he swung a blade that was the same sea color. Kieran held up his hand towards Malcolm as though he was Thor trying to summon Mjölnir. Julian sat astride Windspear, his hands buried in the horse's mane. Mark was behind him, gripping his brother's belt. They seemed to blur almost into one person as Windspear leaped.

Fionn's blade ripped from Malcolm's grasp, the tip of the knife flying up towards the barrier of the protection circle and surging with energy as it began to cut through the warding. "I took an oath to slay my brother should the time come for this curse to be dismissed!" Kieran announced. "Unfortunately for you, Malcolm Fade, that means that even my brother's soul will not be enough to overpower my will - I am the owner of this blade now, and it will not take an innocent life this night!"

Malcolm gaped as the horses hurtled through the air, smashing their hooves on the protective barrier. Striking on either side of the cursed dagger that was already slicing through the protection, the barrier shattered. As Windspear sailed over the table, Julian flung himself from the horse's back, falling heavily onto the flat stone surface beside Tavvy. Emma felt the bone-jarring shock of his pain go through her own body.

Mark kept his seat on Windspear as he swept over the table and landed on the other side of the outer circle. The circle itself, now pierced, began to writhe like an illuminated serpent, the runes flaring up one by one and then going out.

Kieran caught Fionn's weapon as it sailed into his hand at his bidding once the barrier snapped. Selina and Zoltan aimed for the ring of fire where Finnegan and Fionn were trapped and Kieran sliced through the barrier with a final kick from Zoltan to cause protection to shatter.

Selina hopped from Zoltan's back and knelt beside her parabatai, helping him pull to his feet. "You okay?"

Finn nodded. Beyond having a bit of bruising from the tight restraints, he just flexed his arms and legs before grabbing his seraph violin. "Ready."

Julian was pulling himself up onto his knees. Malcolm snarled and reached for Tavvy - just as Kieran launched himself from Zoltan and knocked him to the ground. He raised his sea-colored blade that shimmered with his hair and plunged down towards Malcolm's chest, but Malcolm threw his hands up. Dark purple light exploded from his palms, hurling Kieran back. Malcolm rose to his feet, his face twisted in a snarl of hate. He flung out a hand to crush Kieran into dust. Windspear gave a scream. Zoltan charged up electricity and stomped his hoof to blast Malcolm, effectively paralyzing him for enough time so that Windspear could whirl around, hooves raised, and punch them into Malcolm's back; somehow Mark kept his seat. The warlock went flying.

"By the angel, that was amazing and terrifying," Finnegan muttered. Windspear, red eyes wide, reared and snorted.

"Just get Fionn onto Zoltan's back, now!" Selina snapped.

The two parabatai worked in tandem to lift Fionn up onto the horse, who knelt to help make the job a bit easier. Finn scanned the area. When Malcolm had been sent flying by the horse, he'd dropped Fionn's memory sphere.

Mark, grabbing a fistful of Windspear's mane, leaned down, his other hand outstretched towards Kieran. "Take it. Kieran, take my hand."

Kieran reached up, and Mark pulled him upright, hauling him onto Windspear's back. They swung around and charged at a knot of Followers, the horse scattering them, Mark and Kieran reaching down to finish off the living dead with the strokes of their swords.

Selina ran to Val, striking down Followers as she went. Veon was now devoting his full attention to protecting Val since the protection circle had been broken. She first hauled Maxine onto her shoulder and then grabbed Laura beside her, snatching up Laura's memory sphere and shoving it into her bag. Dumping the two at Val's feet while Veon held the line, Selina dived back into the fray to retrieve Andraeus.

Finnegan mounted Zoltan, steadying Fionn in front of him, draped limp over the horse's back. He started playing a violent tune as Zoltan dashed around and joined in the destruction of the Followers as quickly as possible.

'**_Their numbers are multiplying._**'

"What?! How?!"

'**_Malcolm had many Followers, yes, but upon their death, a Necromian spell could summon many more dead with only a few sacrifices. In fact, I'd wager that every time we kill them, we're merely summoning more. The convergence is being used to power a perpetual reanimation spell. It's why the demons outside continued to regenerate, and why the Followers will continue to do so as well._**'

"Then we aim for Malcolm! Go!"

Malcolm was dragging himself to his feet. His once-white jacket was liberally stained now with dirt and blood. He began to move towards the table, where Julian was kneeling over Tavvy, tugging at the chains that bound him. Emma leaped through the broke protection circle, crouched, and flung herself upwards. She landed on the table in a kneeling position, beside Julian.

"Move away!" was all she had time to gasp. "Julian, move!"

He rolled away from his brother, though she knew that letting go of Tavvy was the last thing he wanted to do. He slid to the edge of the table and rose to his knees, leaning back. Trusting Emma. Giving her space. _A blade made by Wayland the Smith can cut anything_. She swung down with Cortana, a few inches from Tavvy's wrist. The edge of the blade sliced through the chain and it fell away, rattling. Malcolm screamed, and a flash of violet fire split the room.

"Tides!" Selina shouted. Her seraph blades - one in each hand - began shimmering with the light lavender of her moonlight before they shot out streams of sea water, dousing some of Malcolm's flames and clearing a path. "Go! Come on!"

Being enhanced, Selina was able to carry both Max and Laura (who were relatively light anyway), while Val supported her husband, still keeping hold of his memory sphere in order to remain in control of herself. With Veon covering them under Val's control, they began to fight their way to the exit. Zoltan dashed towards their defense and helped clear a path through the Followers, shouting some things about Val needing to wake up Laura and Max at the very least because they could use the damn help!

"I'll have to drop Zytaveon!" Val warned.

"Then we'll cover you!" Finn shouted. "Just get them up and running!"

Emma slashed down again with Cortana, severing the other chains holding Tavvy to the table. "Go! Get him out of here!"

Julian caught up his little brother in his arms. Octavian hung limp, his eyes rolled back. Julian leaped down from the table and vanished into the tunnel. Mark and Kieran were trapped at one end of the room by a group of Followers, Diego and Cristina at another. Malcolm was advancing on Ty and Livvy. He raised his hand again - and a small figure flew towards him, holding up a blazing seraph blade. Dru.

"Stay away from them!" she shrieked, her blade shining between them. "Stay away from my brother and sister!"

Malcolm snarled, curling his finger towards her. A rope of purple light coiled around Dru's legs, jerking her off her feet. The seraph blade rolled away, sputtering against the stone. "I still need Blackthorn blood," Malcolm said, reaching down for her. "And yours will do as well as your little brother's would have. In fact, you look like you'd have a lot more of it-"

"Stop!" Emma shouted.

Malcolm looked up at her - and froze. Emma was standing upright on the stone table. One hand clutched Cortana. The other held the candelabra of Hands of Glory.

"It took you a long time to collect these, didn't it?" she said in a cold voice. "The hands of thirteen murderers. Not so easy. And now that your precious cult is gone, you won't be able to make more, huh?"

Malcolm released Dru and she scuttled away towards the far side of the room, scrabbling at her belt for another weapon. Malcolm's face contorted. "Give it back."

"Call them off," Emma demanded instead. "Call off your Followers, and I'll give you back your Hands of Glory."

"Deprive me of my chance to regain Annabel, and you will pay with agony!" he snarled.

"Can't be worse than the agony of hearing you talk."

"Get down!"

Finnegan had just enough time to recognize Ace's voice before dozens of card Portals opened across the area and out of them shot enormous living vines. They snatched up the Followers like giant octopus tentacles. Diego and Cristina were pinned in the corner of the room, weapons raised, only to be stunned as the Followers were dragged away, sizzling at the touch of the greenery gripping them and pulling them back through the card Portals. Mark and Kieran were astride Windspear, both laying about themselves with blades. The horse's hooves were stained red-brown with blood. Kieran was wielding both his regular blade as well as throwing Fionn's knife and recalling it - seemingly using its disruptive properties to break the spells on the Followers instantly.

Finnegan was riding atop Zoltan with Selina on the ground helping defend the line and prevent Malcolm's fire from closing in on them. The vines swept the Followers before them away as they were sucked into the card Portals. Zoltan reared, nearly hit by the vines, but he seemed more perturbed than actually threatened. By the time the large vines within the card Portals disappeared, a single card Portal opened and Ace walked through - along with a tall person with a mane of curly blond hair that stretched down their back and to their knees.

"I did it!" they squealed. "Boom, I am _awesome_, aren't I?"

"Missed a few." Ace flicked his hand and shot a Follower that was still standing in the head, causing it instantly to collapse.

Diego and Cristina dashed over to Dru; Kieran trotted over to Zoltan and brought Windspear to a halt. The faerie steeds knickered and then stood still as the dead fell dead once again.

Malcolm charged towards the table. Emma ran the length of it, sprang off the end, and landed lightly on the floor. Then she kept running. She ran towards the rows of chairs that had been set up for the Followers, down the aisle between them, and into the shadows. The faint glow of Cortana gave enough light that she could see a dark corridor between the rocks, snaking away into the hill. She plunged into it with Malcolm giving chase.

"She needs help-"

"Get the others out of here," Ace snapped. "Get them far from the convergence and its power - which is under Malcolm's control. He still has-"

Laughter. It sounded like young children, their voices whispering in the wind, swirling around the area. When they spoke, it was clearly multiple voices, though the genders weren't very easy to discern with the mutual high pitch of the young voices.

"_You ruined our fun~_"

"_We're not done yet~_"

"_Play with us some more~!_"

"_Malcolm promised us new toys ~ So many toys~_"

"_You are ours now ~ Malcolm gave you to us, and you are ours~_"

"What are they saying?" Livvy snapped.

"Necromians that Malcolm made deals with!" Ace explained. "They're the reason the demons and the Followers kept multiplying! Summoned and strengthened by spells from the Black Volume, no doubt."

"We need to get everyone away from the convergence and its power!" Selina shouted. "Out of their range!"

The air became heavy with rage as the area began to pick up with dark winds.

"_You can't leave! You are OURS!_"

"_You have to PLAY WITH US!_"

The stone floor trembled as boney hands began to break the surface. Skeletons, ghouls, ghosts emerged from the ground and some even from the walls. Cristina was shouting Spanish expletives while the Blackthorns quickly jumped into action to cut the undead zombies down. At first, they only seemed to wander about aimlessly, making them easy to dispatch with the glowing seraph blades, but soon, the creatures were coming out armed like ancient Roman warriors.

"Get out of here!" Ace ordered. "We'll cover you! Shu?"

The blonde beside him blinked in surprise as though asking '_Me?_' but then they nodded and threw their hands out. Spreading their feet, a wave of fire spread from them at the epicenter, forming a circle of what resembled a wildfire burning away shrubbery to leave only the soil. They raised their arms up and the giant vines that had attacked the Followers from before burst free within the soil, outlined by a thin veil of fiery heat. The vines waved like tentacles and shot out to grab the zombies and pull them out of the way.

The Blackthorns and their friends rushed to the cave exit.

Max and Laura helped Selina escort Val, Andy, and Veon away as well. Max helped get Diana, with Kieran using Fionn's knife to free her from her bonds. Finnegan let Zoltan trot out with Windspear as they made their way up and out, moving away from the convergence with the Astrals running support.

"That was…unusually easy." The Blackthorns all looked uneasy from their experience down in the convergence.

"Easy? That was _scary~!_" The blond Astral with all the plants squirmed like they'd had a lemon in their mouth.

"Emma distracted Malcolm," Finnegan pointed out. "Malcolm had a lot of defenses, but he wasn't prepared for…whatever that was. And with Emma drawing him away, he couldn't properly stop the rest of us."

"Shu, you're not telling me you're afraid of Necromian magic?" Ace asked. He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You haven't forgotten who you're married to, right?"

Shu resembled a child being scolded for not brushing their teeth. "No…but _those_ ones were scary!"

"_Ugh_…" Finn could almost see the tick mark forming on Ace's forehead. "And I called you _powerful_…"

Shu wrung their hands impatiently, twirling their finger into their hair. A childish personality and ambiguously gendered features carefully hid a dangerous, powerful beast. They slipped next to Fionn and helped Kieran settle the faerie into the grass.

"In any case, thanks for the assistance, but Emma's still down there!" Dru exclaimed. "With _Malcolm!_"

"We can get her," Laura volunteered. "With Val out here and out of Malcolm's range, we'll be able to actually _fight_ Malcolm. Besides, we'll be able to fight those ghouls and navigate the tunnels under the convergence. Finnegan?"

He nodded. "Right."

"Water under the convergence," Selina pointed out. "I'm in."

"I'm coming too," Julian announced. "Emma's my parabatai. I'm not leaving her."

"Then we better hurry. The rest of you, stay out here and don't do anything stupid. Malcolm needs Blackthorn blood. We'll watch over Julian, but the rest of you need to stay safe in case Malcolm pulls something. Can't be too careful."

"We'll watch over them," Ace promised.

"Finnegan!" Val called. "I wasn't able to grab Fionn's sphere. What about the rest of you?"

The collective Astrals all shared an odd look, but one that meant nothing but trouble.

"We'll get it back," Selina promised. There was urgency laced in her voice.

"Take Shu," Val advised. "An Infernian will be useful in retrieving the sphere. And Shu has experience with Necromian magic. Might be able to shut down Malcolm's plan entirely and keep those kid Necromians at bay."

"Me?" Shu moved like a cartoon, emotive with every part of their body. Even their hair seemed to reel in surprise and then deflate like it had been dunked into water. "Aw…"

"Just _do_ it," Ace snapped. "You're not _that_ weak."

Finnegan didn't need to speak to his parabatai as they dashed away together. Julian rushed ahead, worry for his own parabatai gripping his heart. Now that his siblings were safe, he had one more part of his family he needed to rescue - a part of his heart that felt like everything to him.

Laura quickly kissed Max on the cheek and muttered a quick, "Be back in a few," before she hurried to join the others.

Shu sighed and threw their arms up. "Death children here I cooooome~!"

* * *

**Chapter title: '_King of the Clouds_' by Panic! At the Disco**


	21. I Can't See Clearly When You're Gone

**Just a couple more chapters of finishing out Lady Midnight before I close out the story with my own plot taking hold. I do plan to be present in Lord of Shadows (actually that was my whole plan in the first place before I ended up needing to provide context in Lady Midnight) and so we're finally getting to my pre-planned plot! Woo!**

***Gasp* This chapter's under 9000 words! Egad! The next one's actually under 10,000 too! And the one after that is around the same length as this one! Wheee, short chapters to edit and read!**

**:)**

* * *

Shu was fine with the dark.

Most of the time.

Some of the time.

On occasions.

"_Hehehehe~!_"

Nope!

"Eeek!" Shu threw a red-hot vine as they crushed a ghoul laughing with that Necromian child's voice.

"For heaven's sake, Shu, would you _please_ calm down?" Laura snapped. "I'd like the element of surprise when we find Malcolm, thank you very much."

"How far are these tunnels?" Julian asked. He was following Laura closely, as she was the only one of them who knew how to navigate underground properly.

"Not far. I can sense Emma and Malcolm." She knew Julian was in a rush to save his parabatai, and so they were practically sprinting down the stone corridors.

Selina's hair, eyes, and crescent birthmark shimmered white, providing ample lighting for them. Shu, constantly on edge, was shimmering with an outline of red glowing dully like the embers of a blaze before it became a fire. Their eyes shimmered emerald green while the rest of them was almost plunged into darkness - as if all the light around them was sucked into their aura.

"Asushunamir - Shu or Namir, they/them please!" They had quickly introduced themself as the group had run back down into the convergence and blasted their way through a growing number of conglomerated zombies and ghouls - all at different levels of decomposition. Some were fully skeletons, others had some skin even if it was rotting like a zombie from television, and there were some that might've been mistaken for entirely human if not for the fatal wounds they were succumbing to - like they were trapped in their final moments for eternity. Another reason to hate necromancy. "I'm a Plantaen descendant of the Infernians and an expert on Necromians."

'**_So that's why Ace brought them in_**,' Finn thought to himself as they ran.

"Almost there!" Laura announced "A porthole! They're at a porthole."

"Which one?!" Selina demanded.

"Third one down! 40 degrees right of our current position!"

"Got it!"

Selina and Laura led the charge with their respective means of tracking. Julian was hot on their heels.

"There!"

Finn could just barely make out Emma's blonde hair, the candelabra of Hands of Glory, and Malcolm's back as he cornered her against a porthole before Malcolm snapped. Violet light shimmered in the tunnel behind them, its iridescence fading as it grew dimmer and more opaque.

"No!"

The three Astrals ahead surged forward. Laura grabbed Selina's hand and kicked her foot backwards; a stone pillar shot out of the ground and boosted the two of them forward. Selina was thrown into Malcolm's wall, but instead of preventing its solidifying, Selina got caught inside of it just as it fully solidified into a wall. Finn could feel his connection - she hadn't died, but he felt the breath sucked out of his lungs. Knocked out, most likely; unable to help Emma.

"Emma!" Julian pounded on the wall, but Selina's light had completely been diminished, leaving only Shu as a dim light source. "Get it open!"

Laura held up her hand as a large mallet formed in her hand and she charged it with electricity before swinging like a baseball player. She hit the wall, but rather than the wall shattering, she got repelled somehow and staggered back, narrowly avoiding hitting Julian.

"How is that _possible?!_" Shu exclaimed.

Finnegan pulled out a witchlight just as the laughter from before returned.

"_Hehehehe~!_"

"Dammit, the convergence is giving them more power than me!" Laura hissed. "I _hate_ Necromians."

"We need a way in there!" Julian snapped. "Emma needs our help! She's gonna be killed!" He pounded on Malcolm's wall in vain. Julian, who so rarely lost his cool in stressful situations, looked like he was going to break his seraph blade trying to smash through Malcolm's wall if it meant he could get to his parabatai.

"We need to get rid of those pesky Necromian kids."

"_You want inside? Play with us._"

The winds of the Necromians picked up, and in the small tunnel it felt intense and claustrophobic enough to knock Finn off his feet. He mildly heard a shriek and felt something grab into him before he was sucked away, pulled down the tunnel by the Necromian hands.

By the time Finnegan landed, it felt like he'd traveled miles. Gathering up his witchlight, he illuminated the dark tunnels. Shu had landed beside him, gripping his arm so they hadn't gotten separated, the blonde Astral looking around uncomfortably.

"These guys don't seem nice," they muttered. Finnegan stood and Shu quickly grabbed his hand. "Illusions," they warned. "Don't wanna get separated."

Finnegan sighed and hurried forward with Shu at his side. He couldn't quite make out what he was supposed to think of Shu. They were certainly powerful, but at the same time they seemed so young and childish. If they seemed _this_ afraid of the dark, what made them the expert on Necromians?

"…_asked us to investigate the murders you were committing? What did you get out of _that?"

"Emma?" Finn called.

"She's still in that chamber," Shu said. "Come on. We should hurry." Shu started leading the way. The corridors started twisting and turning, short and long, and Finn had little idea which direction they were going.

"_I got the absolute promise that the Clave would stay out of it. Individual Shadowhunters don't frighten me, Emma. But the whole mess of them could be a mess indeed. I've known Iarlath a long time. I knew he had connections to the Wild Hunt and I knew the Wild Hunt had something that would make you move Heaven and earth to keep information from the Clave and the Silent Brothers. Nothing against the boy personally; at least his Blackthorn stock is diluted by some good, healthy Downworlder blood. But I know Julian. I knew what he'd prioritize, and it wasn't the Law or the Clave._"

The winds of the Necromians were laughing at them. Shu began to question the paths they were taking, but Finn was already long since lost.

"Shu-?"

"Shh."

"_When I saw the Rosales boy, I realized I didn't have much time. I knew I'd have to take Tavvy right away. Thankfully I had Iarlath's help, which has been invaluable. Oh, I heard about the whipping. I'm very sorry about that. Iarlath has his own ways of having fun, and they aren't mine._"

"_You're _sorry?_ You killed my parents, and you're _apologizing?_ I'd rather be whipped a thousand times and have my parents back._"

Shu held their hand up and a small vine slithered out of their finger. They reached out and touched the walls of the tunnel, causing the vine to stick to the stone and begin leaving a trail. The laugher around them turned to small shrieks of surprise and pain.

The walls began to shimmer. Gray hands began to reach from the walls for them. Shu squealed and swatted them away while Finnegan slipped his witchlight into a sling and drew his seraph violin bow. The instrument required two hands to play anything, but the violin was on his back, and since it was magically enhanced it didn't need to be played properly to be played. He strummed the beginning of a song for them as they ran and then swung his violin bow to cut through the wriggling hands.

"_But why those markings? Why the Unseelie King's poem?_"

"_Because it was a message! Emma, for someone who's talked so much about revenge, who's lived it and breathed it, you don't seem to understand much about it. I needed the Shadowhunters to know. I needed the Blackthorns to know, when the youngest of them lay dead, whose hand had dealt them that blow. When someone has wronged you, it isn't enough that they suffer. They need to look at your face and know _why_ they suffer. I needed the Clave to decipher that poem and learn exactly who would be their destruction._"

"_Destruction? You're insane. Killing Tavvy wouldn't destroy the Nephilim - and none of them who are alive even know about Annabel-_"

"_And how do you think that feels? Her name forgotten? Her fate buried? The Shadowhunters turned her into a story. I think several of her kinsmen went mad - they couldn't bear what they'd done, couldn't bear the weight of the secret._"

"_If it was such a secret, how did Poe know? The poem, 'Annabel Lee'-_"

Shu sent a wave of flame down the corridor and burned the walls, ceiling, and ground. The light slowly faded into the distance as the threat before them dissipated. "Ha, that'll show you!"

"_When I found out, I wanted to deny it, but it was the poem that proved the facts of it - Poe had learned the truth from Downworlders, learned it before I did - how Annabel and I had loved as children, how she would have left the Nephilim for me, but her family heard of it and decided death was preferable to life with a warlock. They'd walled her up in a tomb by the Cornwall sea, walled her up alive. Later, when I moved her body, I kept it near the ocean. She always loved the water._"

Finnegan tried his best not to sympathize with Malcolm, keep his head in the game. But he couldn't help it. There was a part of him that wished Malcolm and Annabel had been successful. Maybe then Malcolm wouldn't have ended up like _this_. Even though Finnegan couldn't see anything that was happening, he could hear Malcolm's breath was coming in sobs. His grief was as raw and real as if what he were talking about had happened yesterday.

Immortals never forgot. They never _wanted_ to forget. Hundreds of years seemed like a long time to grieve, but loving someone so fiercely…Finnegan wondered if Fionn would ever be pushed that far if he died.

"_They told me she'd become an Iron Sister. All of them lied to me - Magnus, Catarina, Ragnor, Tessa, Zytaveon - corrupted by Shadowhunters, drawn in by their lies! And I, oblivious, grieving for her, until I finally found out the truth._"

Shu led them down another corridor as they whacked a zombie with their hand and shattered its bones to dust instantly. "Keep moving!"

"_I want you to understand. I want someone to tell the Clave what they're responsible for, I want them to know the blood on their hands, I want them to know _why."

"_Your why doesn't matter. Maybe you did what you did in the name of love. But if you think that makes any difference, you're no better than the Clave._"

Finnegan felt the sweeping laughter of the children ripping past him through the winds of the corridor. It was as if a giant fan was covering the tunnel and shoving them back with stronger and stronger winds. He was sure that the wind speed was categorized as a small tornado by that point.

"Don't worry!" Shu called. "It'll be fine!"

He realized that Shu must've been significantly dampening the extremes of what the Necromians were trying to do. They could be getting blown off their feet again and thrown into a random section of the tunnels if Shu hadn't been helping. Something about being an expert on them. Or maybe that was just Finnegan being optimistic.

"_Have you…have you always hated them? Julian and the rest?_"

"_Always. Even when it seemed like I loved them._"

"_That's horrible. It's not their fault. You can't blame them for their ancestors' sins._"

"_Blood is blood. We are all what we were born to be. I was born to love Annabel and that was taken from me. Now I live only for revenge. Just as you have, Emma. How many times have you told me that all you want in life is to kill the one who killed your parents? What would you give up for it? Would you give up the Blackthorns? Would you give up your precious parabatai? The one you're in love with?_" A scoff. "_Please. I _always_ saw the way you looked at each other. And then Julian told me that your rune had healed him from Rook's poison. No normal Shadowhunter's rune should have been able to do that._"

"_Not…proof of anything._"

"_Proof? You want proof? I saw you, the two of you. On the beach, sleeping in each other's arms. I stood over you and watched you and thought how easily it would be to kill you. But then I realized that that would be a mercy, wouldn't it? Killing the two of you while you were in each other's arms? There's a reason you can't fall in love with your parabatai, Emma. And when you find out what it is, you will feel the cruelty of the Shadowhunters, just as I have._"

"_You're a liar_."

"_Let me tell you a truth before you die, Emma. It is a secret about the Nephilim._"

"Duck!" Shu slid their feet forward and tugged them both down to the stone floor. Shu hauled them both to their feet and continued forward.

Shu swatted at the wind, thick with black wisps flying at them at high speeds.

"Ah!" they shrieked and came to a stop, swatting with their free arm while keeping a firm grip on Finn's hand. "Stop it! Hey! Ugh!"

"_Play~! Play~! Play~! Play~!_"

"Let go! You-! Mmm!" Shu stomped and set the wind on fire, swatting away the black dust in the air that was trying to stick to them.

"**_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_**"

The winds exploded. Finn felt like he was being punched in the gut.

Then they stopped.

The tunnel was eerily calm and silent now that the winds had died down. Shu hacked up some of the dust, but they seemed okay. They swept their curly hair out of their face and then glared down the tunnel. "_That'll_ teach you! Ha!"

Two ghostly lights began to conglomerate and shimmer, slowly becoming visible. Like a camera lens focusing, the two white blobs formed into a pair of dark-haired girls in old-fashioned night dresses. One of them was holding a worn stuffed bear, the other a pink stuffed dog. Their hands were clasped between them and they stared up at Shu with dark eyes.

"_You don't want to play!_" they accused in tandem.

"Annie, Tina, down." Shu and Finn turned around to see Mat standing in the corridor, the Necromian standing with his arms crossed glaring down at the twin girls. "You go gather the others and go home. _Now_. Rozaline will be speaking to you about this - accepting Necromian deals at a convergence without permission."

The two girls frowned, mirror images of each other. "But _Maaat~!_"

"No, I don't wanna hear it! Do you know how much trouble you've caused? Just because the Astral world is in disarray doesn't mean the death gods aren't going to be in contact with us about this incident. And let's not forget that '_playing_' with Laura has severely disrupted her systems and when she recovers, she could bring down the wrath of the Archeans _and_ Fulgarians upon us. You know the rules about playing."

The twins stuck their tongues out at him.

"Mat's no fun." "No fun is Mat."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not fun. Just get the others and get your asses back to the House or I'll tell Roz about the hotel incident and he'll _never_ let you play in hotels again."

The twins huffed, but they jumped backwards and their smoky bodies dissolved.

Mat sighed. "Sorry about that. The kids have been acting up for _generations_ and it's unlikely they're going to stop any time soon. They're relatively harmless, but they enjoy scaring people. Inspired some popular movies and books and such. Being summoned at a convergence gave them a perfect playground-"

"Charon!" Shu released Finn's hand and launched themself at Mat, wrapping their arms around him in a tight hug. "I knew you'd come to help, Chare-bear!"

Mat flinched and actually looked _flustered_ as he tried to pry Shu off of him. "Asushunamir, release me!"

"Mataecharonsan, never!"

"Ugh, not _never!_ Let me go! We've still got work to do! This is _not_ the time! Must you always be so…ugh!" Was he turning a certain shade of pink?

The pieces started to fit together in Finn's head. Mat had said that he'd had people on the line and that was why he was helping the Infernian cause with the Phoenix Resistance. '_I have people that I care for that are at risk. Infernian descendants. My friends. My family._' Shu was part Infernian…

Despite the current situation, Finnegan snickered. He clapped his hand over his mouth to hide it, but Mat glared at him all the same. His dark gaze was slightly mitigated by the fact that he had the equivalent of a fluffy blond kitten clinging to him.

It was only once Shu had managed to sneak a quick kiss on Mat's cheek that he was able to shove Shu away. "Look you need to get those Hands of Glory. They're valuable when it comes to dark magic and necromancy activity. _We_, in the meantime, are going to get _out_ of here. The other Necromian kids aren't going to get in your way, so you don't need Shu's help anymore. They don't need to guide you home."

"But _Chare~_" Shu did their best impression of the kitten eyes from that cat in Shrek.

Mat's eyebrow twitched, and it was clear he was resisting the strong urge to fold under Shu's gaze. "No." He tugged Shu into his grasp and then melted them down into the shadows.

"Hey, wait-!"

But they were already gone.

Finn sighed. "Gee, thanks, Mat."

He continued down the corridor, but it suddenly seemed a lot less confusing - hardly the maze it had been that had required Shu's assistance navigating. He just went straight forward and then heard Julian's frustration up ahead.

-**_TTOT_**-

By the time Selina came to, the first thing she saw was Emma collapsed on the ground with Malcolm standing above her, holding up the candelabra of Hands of Glory.

Selina tried to move. She moved her head in the direction of Emma and expected her body to follow. Instead, her right arm got caught as if it were being held in concrete. A moment later, she realized that it might as well have been. She was half-encased in Malcolm's solid wall, only the top half of her torso and her left arm hanging free. She squirmed the rest of her body, but everything else was encased in the magic, opaque barrier. At least her legs weren't hanging out the other end.

She pulled at her right arm, but it wouldn't budge. She silently cursed at whatever force that denied her extra strength when she was in such a situation. She was supposed to be a _goddess_ for fuck's sake. But without the sea or moonlight directly, she was actually relatively harmless. Harmless as a Shadowhunter could be, anyway.

Malcolm didn't seem to notice her consciousness yet, at least. She glanced up at the porthole. _Seawater_. She looked around the room and noticed the lever that Emma had mentioned before. She'd pulled the lever and the portholes had opened to suck Emma out to sea. All Selina needed was to pull that lever and get the seawater inside so she could stop Malcolm and protect Emma.

"Let me tell you a truth before you die, Emma. It is a secret about Nephilim. They hate love, human love, because they were born of angels. And while God charged his angels to take care of humans, the angels were made first, and they have always hated God's second creation. That is why Lucifer fell. He was an angel who would not bow to mankind, God's favored child. Love is the weakness of human beings, and the angels despise them for it, and the Clave despises it too, and therefore they punish it. Do you know what happens to parabatai who fall in love? Do you know why it's forbidden?"

She shook her head.

His mouth quirked into a smile. There was something about that smile, so faint and yet so full of bone-deep hatred, that chilled her the way none of his grinning had. "Then you have no idea what your death will spare your beloved Julian. So think about that as the life leaves your body. In a way, your death is a mercy." He raised his hand, violet fire beginning to crackle between his fingers.

"Emma!" Selina screamed.

He hurled his magic at her, but Selina saw his shoulders jump in surprise at her outburst. Emma flung her arm up, the arm that Julian had carved the Endurance rune on, the arm that had been burning and aching and screaming at her to use it since she'd struck the Black Volume when attempting to strike Malcolm and ended up on the floor where she was.

Fire slammed into her arm. She felt it like a hard blow, but nothing more. The Endurance rune was pulsing through her body with its power, and alongside that power rose her own rage. Rage at knowing Malcolm had killed her parents, rage for the wasted years she'd searched for their killer when he'd been right in front of her. Rage for every time he'd smiled at Julian or picked up Tavvy when his heart was full of hate. Rage at one more thing that had been taken from the Blackthorns.

She seized Cortana and wrenched herself to her knees, her hair flying as she drove the sword into Malcolm's gut. She felt the blade go in, felt it tear through the skin and rip past bone. Saw the tip of it burst out through his back, his white jacket soaked through with red blood. She sprang to her feet, yanking the sword free. He made a choking noise. Blood was spilling onto the ground, running across the stone, spattering the Hands of Glory.

"This is for my parents," she said, and slammed his body as hard as she could against the glass wall.

She felt his ribs snap as the glass behind him fissured. Water began to pour through the cracks. She felt it splatter against her face, salty as tears.

Selina waved her free hand and pulled the seawater through the porthole cracks faster. "Emma, take cover!" She wrapped bindings around Malcolm's crippled body and began searching for the memory sphere on his person.

"I'll tell you about the parabatai curse," he gasped. "The Clave will never let you know it - it's forbidden. Kill me and you'll never learn-"

With her left hand, Emma yanked down the lever.

"Emma!" Selina held back the water that gushed through the open porthole and used it to pull Emma back and out of range.

Malcolm sighed, though the corners of his mouth turned up in a bittersweet smile. "Well then. I suppose I have no more use for this." He flicked his hand and summoned the fiery red memory orb.

Selina's eyes widened. "_No-!_"

Malcolm's magic crushed the orb. The room exploded with heat and pressure, as though he'd released a small atom bomb within the area. Selina pulled the seawater into the room as fast as she could. The water moved like a living thing, a hand shaped out of water, formed by the sea. It surrounded Malcolm and the violent energy of the released sphere. For a frozen moment, Malcolm could be seen clearly, struggling with feeble motions, within a whirlpool of water, water that spilled across the floor, water that gripped him, encircling him like an unbreakable net. Malcolm was sucked off his feet. He gave a cry of terror as the ocean took him. Emma sucked in a deep breath as the entire room was pulled into the sea and blocked the radiating heat.

Then, the current rushed back out, carrying him with it. Selina had it pull the glass door shut behind him and sealed the cracks in the glass.

The silence the water left behind was deafening. Exhausted, Emma slumped against the glass of the porthole door. Through it, Selina could see the ocean, the color of the night sky. Malcolm's body was a pale white star in the darkness with the red light of the fiery memory sphere dying out beside him, drifting among the weeds, and then a dark, spiky talon curled upwards, through the ripples, and caught hold of Malcolm by the ankle. With a quick jerk, his body was yanked out of view.

There was a bright flicker and Selina was released from the violet wall of light in the corridor - spells disappeared when the warlocks who cast them died.

"Emma!" "Selina!"

There were pounding footsteps in the corridor. Out of the shadows, Julian appeared. Emma saw his stricken expression as he caught her to him, his hands knotting in her soaked, bloodstained gear. "Emma, God, I couldn't get to you through the wall, I knew you were there but I couldn't save you. And then those necromancers with their reanimations attacked and I nearly lost where the wall was and I thought I wouldn't make it back-"

"You saved me," she said hoarsely, wanting to show him the Endurance run on her arm, but she was pressed too tightly against him to move. "You did. You don't know it, but you did."

Laura surged past towards the porthole, sticking her head flush against it and looking around. "He's gone?"

Selina nodded as Finnegan knelt by her side. "Are these burns?"

Selina glanced down and noticed that her left arm and skin that hadn't been encased in the magic wall was burnt from the explosion of the memory sphere. On top of that she was soaked with seawater. She couldn't tell if that was irony or not.

Laura glanced back out into the corridor. "Your family's coming to find you. Probably thought we're taking too long. I'm shifting the corridors to let them through."

"Who?" Julian asked.

"Uh…Mark, Cristina, Diego, Diana."

"Tavvy," Emma whispered. "Is he-?"

"He's fine," Julian assured her. "He's outside with the others." He kissed her temple. "Emma…" His lips brushed hers. She felt a shock of love and pain go through her.

"Let me go," she whispered. "You have to let me go, they can't see us like this. Julian, let me go."

His head came up, his eyes full of agony, and he moved away. She saw what it cost him, saw the tremor in his hands as he lowered them to his sides. Felt the space between them like the space of a wound torn into flesh.

She dragged her gaze from his and looked down at the ground. The floor was awash with seawater and blood, ankle-deep. Somewhere Malcolm's candelabra floated beneath the surface. Emma was glad. The salt would dissolve Malcolm's gruesome monument to murder, dissolve it and pick it clean, and it would be white bones, settling as Malcolm's body settled to the floor of the ocean. And for the first time in a long time, Emma felt grateful to the sea.

* * *

Emma and Julian were walking deliberately apart, keeping distance between them. Exhaustion and pain were slowing Emma down as she walked at the back of the pack. Cortana was back in its sheath. She could feel the sword humming with energy; she wondered if it had absorbed magic from Malcolm.

But Emma didn't want to think about Malcolm, about what he'd said.

Ty, Livvy, and Dru were sitting on the ground with Tavvy - the little boy was cradled in Livvy's arms, seeming sleepy but awake. Kieran was a distance away, sitting beside Max, Andy, and Val, who appeared to be tending to an unconscious Fionn and Zytaveon. Ace was once again gone. Kieran had a scowl on his face that relaxed only somewhat when Mark emerged from the convergence.

"How is Tavvy? Is everything all right?" Julian approached his siblings. Dru jumped up and hugged him tightly - then gasped and pointed.

A loud grinding noise cracked through the air. The gap in the hill was closing up behind them like a wound healing. Diana darted towards it, as if she could hold the pathway open, but the stone sealed shut; she snatched her hand back just in time to keep it from being crushed.

"You cannot stop it," Laura said. "The opening and the paths inside were made by Malcolm. This hill doesn't naturally hold within it tunnels and caves."

"Now that he is dead, his enchantments are failing," Kierak agreed. "There may perhaps be another entrance into this space, at some other ley line convergence. But this door will not open again."

"How did you know he was dead?" Emma asked.

"Lights going on in the city below. The…I don't know what your mundane word for it is-"

"Blackout," Mark supplied. "The blackout's over. And Malcolm cast the spell that was responsible for the blackout, so…yeah."

"Does that mean we can get a signal on our phones?" Ty wondered.

"I'll check," Julian said, and walked away to press his phone to his ear. Finn thought he heard mutterings of his Uncle Arthur.

While Emma and her family rejoined with Tavvy, Finnegan, Selina, and Laura rushed over to where Fionn and the others were. Laura quickly went over to her wife. Val seemed to be back in shape, and she'd woken Andraeus as well ("Still pretty as ever," Selina muttered). Zoltan was trotting around in circles impatiently, but he hadn't left yet, so Finn couldn't tell if that was a good sign or not.

"Fionn!"

He knelt at the faerie's side. He looked so delicate…

Finnegan reached out and ran his hand through the faerie's hair, pulsing lightly to the rhythm of his breathing, fluctuating between shades of orange.

"Selina, did you get the memory sphere? Val, you can put it back into him, right?"

"Finnegan-''

"He's gonna be fine, yes?"

"Finn-"

"What about Veon? Is he gonna be okay? What even _happened?_ Oh, and Laura, you helped Julian get through that tunnel in the maze, right? Mat showed up, and-"

"Nephilim!" Kieran took Finnegan by the shoulders and shook him violently. "You must listen…upon your departure, something must have occurred with my brother's sphere of memory."

Finn glanced at his parabatai. "Selina…?"

Selina bit her lip and took a deep breath. "So…these burns weren't from Malcolm…"

Selina went into her explanation of what had happened from her end. She could feel Finn's distress as she went on and explained what Malcolm had done.

"S…So what does that mean? Val, what happens when a memory sphere is _broken?_ Surely the memories just return to their owner, right?"

Val frowned. There was pity in her eyes. Finnegan didn't like pity. He'd seen it all his life from those closest to him. "Memory spheres like the ones that I used were the equivalent of extracting a _soul_, Finnegan. Living, sentient creatures of such a high functionality have constant fluctuations in their souls. You're aware of how true names work, how they're constantly in flux and need to be renewed after a certain period of time if you've entrusted it to someone else. With gods and deities, who are resistant to or fully incapable of change, a true name will always remain the same overall. But Fionn…he is not a god. Quite the contrary - his multiple…complications…they're exactly what were preventing him from connecting to Phoenix properly in the first place."

"So _what happened?_ What does his memory sphere being destroyed mean?"

Val reached out and took his hand. He wanted to rip his hand free of her grasp, but he couldn't find the strength. "It means that…he's…died. Or the equivalent of it, anyway. The thing is, his life is tied to that blade." She motioned to Kieran, who had strapped Fionn's knife to his belt. "The stipulations surrounding his curse were that none can kill him except Kieran - and not without that knife. Because that's where his soul will go when he dies. I…I honestly have no idea where his soul is. But I can't touch it anymore. I can't find it."

Finnegan's eyes dropped to Fionn, lying in the grass. It was faint, but he could see the faerie's light breathing. "But…"

Val's fingers wrapped around his palm. Her other hand sandwiched his between her own. "I said that _Fionn's_ memories, his soul, are gone - missing," she quickly revised. "But Fionn is…very special." She sighed. "He's had multiple lives, multiple personalities - multiple souls. All of them were _him_…er, sorta. They were all his base soul, but…it was like he was being reborn, multiple times. Malcolm wiped his memory once; I found the memory sphere in Malcolm's place before he captured me. _That_ memory sphere not only contains the memories of…of _her_, but the memories of everyone who had ever known she existed in that form. Be happy that he didn't have me do the same to Fionn. It would've taken too much time, and all he needed was Fionn's soul, not that of those around him too. But he managed to wipe an entire decade of her life - more even. He erased her existence to every sentient creature that ever knew her; such a thing could literally _destroy_ her soul. It's worse than any kind of homicide. I can restore that version of her to this body if we go get that memory sphere."

"But you can't ever get Fionn back?"

Finnegan would not let his voice break. He would not start thinking about the last time he'd seen Fionn; he would not start wondering the myriad of questions that he always asked when he worried it would be their last encounter. He would not allow that to overwhelm him. The moment he started thinking about it was the moment he'd break down, and he had no idea if he'd be able to pull himself together again.

"T-There's no way to use the knife or something to summon his soul back?"

"Actually," Val said, her voice raising in a hopeful manner - as though Finnegan had guessed the correct question in class, "that might be a viable option. If Kieran is willing, we can work with him to try and recover Fionn's soul with that knife of his. We can also use the fact that Malcolm didn't have me erase everyone _else's_ memories of Fionn in order to combine the blade with a reconstruction of all the evidence that exists of his life. We know a lot about him, he left a mark on this world, and with time, yes, I can extract his footprint on this world and possibly make a reconstruction of his memories. Kinda like…you can tell a lot about what you've lost by the shape of the hole it leaves, yes? _But_-" she interrupted before Finn could speak "-that means that we'd be condemning him to his fate in that knife. We either choose between not knowing where he is, or knowing _exactly_ where he is and what he's suffering through."

"Can we get him out of the knife?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. We could try though. Since Kieran accepted his role as the weapons' new master, it's possible he could release Fionn at his leisure - but only if he agrees to still uphold the kill order eventually."

"What about…what about all the Astral stuff? You need Phoenix, right? Shouldn't you be…helping get him back?"

"Like I said, Finn. Fionn's soul, everything that he had done to himself…that was _preventing_ Phoenix's emergence. The Fionn that you knew…the reason that the Unseelie King wanted him was to take away Fionn's curse - return him to his true form so that he could access Phoenix's powers. What Malcolm did to him…it was what the Unseelie King wanted of Malcolm anyway. Being able to use Fionn's cursed blade was a bonus, but either way, he was being commissioned to find a way to take Fionn's memories away again like before. Using _me_," she chuckled humorlessly - bitterly, "…like before. We're just lucky that this time Malcolm was distracted by Annabel. If Malcolm had done it like he did before, none of us would remember Fionn even existed - even _me_. And he'd have gotten away with it."

Finnegan frowned. "So the Unseelie King just…what? Resets Fionn every time he doesn't turn out the way he _needs?_"

"That's how it appears, yes. But he's growing desperate. The blessings of the former Infernian are wearing off, and he needs Phoenix more than ever. The PR team is already breaking a lot of laws by helping you all the way that we have. If they're convinced that Fionn isn't necessary for Phoenix - that he's actually a _hindrance_ to Phoenix's return…they won't waste the resources."

Finnegan felt his hand trembling. He knew Val must've felt it too. He would not break, not right now. He could snap later, once he had the time to. "S-So, uh…Fionn's gone?"

"Maybe not forever," Val reminded him. "But for now, yes. And…also…in destroying Fionn's memory sphere, Malcolm enacted the final part of his plan to return the Unseelie King the one he wanted: a girl named Dearil."

Dearil…that name sounded slightly familiar. It wasn't common enough that Finnegan had just randomly heard it in passing, but he had made a mental note of it, somewhere down the line. It wasn't an important conversation that he'd heard it in, but he'd heard it nonetheless.

"Before Fionn became Fionn, his - er, _her_ \- her name was Dearil Kingsdöttær." She motioned towards the sleeping faerie. "This right here is Dearil Kingsdöttær, in her original form. When Malcolm destroyed the memory sphere, we knew about it because Fionn reverted to Dearil. Quite colorfully, I might add. It was a lot of red."

Finnegan dropped his eyes to Fionn, to _Dearil_. Dammit, he'd already gone through mental training to readjust from 'Fae' to 'Fionn.' The faerie looked very similar to Fionn - though that was just how Seelie were. The gentry Fair Folk were graceful, male or female. He _did_ start to scour for the details. She was smaller - her clothes were definitely baggy considering that they were made for Fionn. He noticed that her left ear was deformed at the tip, heavily scarred and it had lost its pointed tip because of it. Fionn definitely hadn't had that.

Finn started to realize that Fionn's body was _completely_ different from Dearil's, and that something like Dearil's ear meant that her body was entirely her own. This body had never learned to play instruments with Finn, nor rode with him upon the powerful steed Zoltan across the skies. This body had never heard his music, his playing and his singing. This body hadn't taught him to embrace himself, it hadn't comforted him or hurt him or…loved him. Losing one's memories was one thing, but she had also lost all of Fionn's _muscle_ memory as well. Every part of Fionn that remained was gone from this body.

"Is she…?"

"There's nothing significantly wrong with her. She needs some food and rest, but otherwise she'll make a normal recovery."

"What's the last thing she remembers?"

Val glanced down at her. "It's hard to say. Mmm…right before she made the demon deal that transformed her into Fionn."

Finn had no idea what that would mean. He barely had any clue about Fionn's history before he'd met the faerie the day that he and his horse had saved Finnegan's life. He knew that Veon had been with Fionn for a while - and actually, Veon had been the one to supply Fionn with the potions that helped counteract his curse. If nothing else, that meant that Dearil had probably gone to Veon or someone close to Veon to summon the demon to make that deal before Veon was then commissioned to give his regular doses.

"Veon?" Finnegan asked. "What about him? How's he doing?"

Val sighed. "Malcolm forced me to take control of his psyche, which isn't easy. Veon's history is…well, it's not really _that_ complicated. He's the child of a powerful demon who used the ashes of his sister to impregnate a warlock - basically trying to rebirth her into a more powerful vessel with the human blood to be able to wander as an enhanced warlock. Veon was born with his aunt's voice in his head since he was a child, and for a while, her soul was in control of his body. It's why he's the source of crocodiles in the sewers. Magnus managed to help him get ahold of it, but Malcolm just needed to break his mental barriers down - causing the struggle you saw earlier during the investigation - and then he just needed to use me to take control of him and his feral form when he needed us as his bodyguards for the ritual."

"Will he be okay?"

"I've sealed off his mind to his aunt and such. He should recover, though he's going to have a major headache."

Diego gave Tavvy an energy draught to help wake him from whatever Malcolm had done to keep the child asleep.

"Your left arm," Cristina said to Emma gently, and led her a few feet away. "Hold it out?"

Emma obeyed and saw that the skin of her hand and wrist was red and blistered, as if she'd been burned.

Cristina shook her head, drawing her stele from her jacket. "There were a few minutes there, when you were behind that wall Malcolm made, where I thought you weren't coming out."

Emma bumped her head against Cristina's shoulder. "Sorry."

"I know." Cristina turned brisk, pushing up Emma's sleeve. "You need healing runes."

Emma leaned into Cristina as the stele ran over her skin, taking comfort in the fact that she was there. "It was weird, being trapped in there with Malcolm. Mostly he just wanted to tell me about Annabel. And the thing is - I actually felt bad for him."

"It's not weird. It's a terrible story. Neither he nor Annabel did anything wrong. To see someone you love so horribly punished and tortured…to think they'd abandoned you only to find out that you abandoned them…" Cristina shuddered.

"I hadn't thought about it that way. You think he felt guilty?"

"I'm sure he did. Anyone would."

Emma thought of Annabel with a pang. She had been a blameless victim. Hopefully she had never been aware of anything, never been aware of Malcolm's efforts to revive her. "I told him he was as bad as the Clave and he actually seemed surprised."

"No one is ever the villain of their own story." Cristina released Emma, pausing to examine her healing handiwork. Already the pain in Emma's arm was receding. She knew a rune from Julian would most likely have worked more quickly, but after what had happened with the Endurance rune, she didn't dare let him rune her in front of everyone else.

Julian was near the car, holding his phone to his ear. A moment later, he tapped the screen and slid it back into his pocket.

"So are the signals working again?" Ty asked. "Who were you calling?"

"Pizza," Julian said.

They all stared at him. Like the rest of them, he was filthy, a long scratch along his cheek, his hair tangled. In the moonlight, his eyes were the color of an underground river.

"Thought we might all be hungry," he said with that deceptive mildness that Finn now knew meant that whatever was happening on the surface didn't match what was going on in Julian's mind.

"Actually, that was a good idea," Selina realized. She got that glint in her eyes of an epiphany, which was only augmented by the fact that her eyes actually _did_ shimmer in the moonlight.

"We should go," Finn announced. "The convergence's collapse means the Clave is going to be able to see the dark magic emanating from this place on their map. When we get back, I don't think we'll be alone."

-**_TTOT_**-

They hurried to get everyone ready to go.

On the Blackthorns' end, Livvy was carrying Octavian on her lap in the backseat of the Toyota, and Diana was taking Cristina and Diego in the truck, which she had hidden among some scrub brush. Kieran offered the use of Windspear again to Mark, but Mark declined.

"I wish to ride with my brothers and sisters," he said simply.

"Could you take Dearil?" Finn requested. "I want to take her to my Institute. We weren't that populated even before the Dark War when our numbers got sliced. It shouldn't be too hard to sneak her in. But first I should help confront the Clave about this situation, help the Blackthorns explain and dismiss everything." Kieran helped get Dearil's unconscious body settled onto his horse without a word. She was significantly lighter than Fionn. "Besides," Finn said lightly, "you'll get a few extra moments with Mark."

"We're going to head back to Veon's apartment," Andy said. Max was floating Veon beside her. His scales reflected the moonlight gently. "See if we can't patch him up."

"I'm going to search Malcolm's apartment for Dearil's memory sphere and see if I can't find some notes on how to reverse the memory wipe." Val gave her husband a quick kiss and assurance that she'd be careful. "With the memory wipe being so powerful, it'll no doubt be a pain to undo, but we're just righting the natural order of things."

"I'll go with you," Max volunteered. "Laura, you Astrals go do your Astral thing and figure out the aftermath of everything while we raid Malcolm's place."

Laura plucked Veon out of the air and easily slung the sparkly warlock over her shoulder. "Make sure to get those cool primal stones he has in his collection. I've wanted to dissect those for _centuries_."

"Hey, where's Rios?" Finn realized.

"He went back to HQ to fill them in on the situation," Andy explained. "I'd wager Ace is with him or at least offering transportation to get messages back and forth."

"Oh, HQ is gonna have our heads after this one," Laura muttered.

"We got Phoenix back before he was killed, so that's a bonus. Last thing we need is for him to be reborn somewhere _else_ and have to wait for him to mature so we can locate him again. You know the boss isn't cruel."

"Maybe we can get Finnegan to woo her into giving us a pass."

Andy snorted. "Like _anyone_ can woo her into favors."

Max and Val opened two different Portals, the four (five counting Veon) turning to depart to their respective locations.

"We'll be back with an update on the memory sphere," Val said. "In the meantime, you need to keep Dearil safe and calm. We've already pushed our luck interacting with you guys as we have, so unfortunately we can't - or rather we _shouldn't_ \- be doing anything else. Even Max and I are still under Covenant laws as a part of PR, so while we have _some_ privileges, we're already in hot water until we get in our report. Veon, however, should be useful if we can get him back on his feet!"

"Be in touch!" Max waved.

The warlocks went through one Portal while the Astrals took the other. The Portals snapped closed behind them.

Selina sighed. "Honestly, I really enjoy not being under the PR rules."

"So you get to do things they don't by being rogue?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Although I _am_ alone and not very well liked. And the Fate gods still control me to some extent. That's where being merged with Selina Dalmasca comes in handy. Being part human loosens the bonds held on all gods against royally fucking up the universe."

Finn signed and climbed aboard Zoltan with Selina riding behind him. Zoltan was seemingly speaking to Windspear while they waited to depart.

Julian turned to Kieran, who was busying himself adjusting and securing Dearil to look distracted. The faerie's eyes were flat, unreflective. It was hard to tell how he felt about the loss of his brother and how much hope he had about ever getting him - or Mark, for that matter - back.

Julian wished he could see what his brother had loved: a Kieran who had been warm towards Mark or kind. He wished he could thank Kieran for not leaving Mark among the Hunt. He wished he felt less hatred in his heart.

"You don't need to come back with us," Julian said. "We don't need your help anymore."

"I've still business with Finnegan. And I will not go until I know Mark is safe."

Julian shrugged. "Have it your way. When we get back, don't come into the Institute until we say so. We'd be in trouble just for fighting alongside you."

Kieran's mouth hardened. "Without me, you would have been defeated this night."

"Probably. I'll remember to be grateful every time I see the scars on Emma's back."

Kieran flinched.

"You should remember that every time you blame Kieran for that whipping, you should remember that Kieran was simply one cog in the machine," Finnegan said. His voice was devoid of emotion, and yet at the same time he sounded so full of pain and maybe hope that it was hard to discern how close he was to snapping. "Your brother was the one who shared information he shouldn't have, your own parabatai was the one who volunteered to take those lashes - and only because _you_ volunteered to take the punishment meant for your brother, subjecting Emma to pain because _you_ were in pain. Maybe you should stop blaming your problems on anyone but your loved ones when you yourself can't handle the blame."

"Finn," Selina urged. She put a placating hand on his shoulder.

Finn sucked in a deep breath through his nose. "In any case, Julian's right, Kieran. Stay outside the Institute with Fionn until we clear it of any superiors who're investigating the dark magic. Regardless of how thankful we are, the rest of the Shadowhunter community might not be so accepting. Once we finish with the Blackthorns, you're welcome at my Institute in San Francisco to at least help Fi…_Dearil_ recover."

"Many thanks, Finnegan."

Julian turned and walked towards the car. Diana cut in front of him, holding up a hand. She was wrapped in a heavy shawl, and her face was speckled with blood like light freckles.

"The Clave may well be waiting for you," she said without preamble. "If you want, I'll take the blame for everything and throw myself on their mercy."

Julian looked at her for a long moment. He had lived by ironclad rules for so long. _Protect Tavvy, protect Livvy and Ty, protect Dru_. _Protect Emma_. Recently that had widened out slightly - he would protect Mark, because Mark had come back, and he would protect Cristina, because Emma loved her.

It was a sort of love few other people could understand. It was total and it was overwhelming and it could be cruel. He would destroy a whole city if he thought that city posed some threat to his family. When you were twelve years old and you were all that stood between your family and annihilation, you didn't learn moderation.

He considered now, with all the detachment he could muster, what would happen if Diana tried to take the blame - he entertained the idea, turned it over in his head, and rejected it. "No. And I'm not being kind. I don't think it would work."

"Julian-"

"You hide things. The Angel knows there's something you're still hiding, some reason you couldn't take over the Institute. Something you won't tell, anyway. You're a good hider, but you're not a good liar. They won't believe you. But they'll believe me."

"So you already have a story for them?" Diana asked, her dark eyes widening.

Julian didn't say anything.

She sighed, pulling the shawl tighter. "You're a piece of work, Julian Blackthorn."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, though he doubted she meant it as one.

"Did you know I'd be here tonight? Did you think I was in league with Malcolm?"

"I didn't think it was likely. But then, I don't entirely trust anyone."

"That's not true." Diana looked across to where Mark was helping Emma into the driver's side of the car. Her blonde hair flew like sparks in the starlight. She glanced back at Julian. "You'd better get back. I'll make myself scarce until tomorrow."

"I'll tell them you didn't know anything. It isn't as if people don't deceive their tutors all the time. And you don't even live with us." He heard the Toyota start up. The others were waiting for him. "So you'll drop Diego and Cristina at the Institute and then head home?"

"I'll head somewhere."

He started towards the car, then paused and turned to look back at her. "Do you ever regret it? Choosing to be our tutor? You didn't have to."

The wind blew her dark hair across her face. "No," she said. "I am who I am because I've been part of your family. Never forget, Jules. The choices we make, make us."

* * *

**Chapter title: '_Blinding Lights_' by The Weeknd**


	22. When the Villains Fall

The Institute was lit up like a Christmas tree. It had been dark when they'd left, and as Finn and Selina approached, Finn caught the faintest of faint glimmers on the air. Light in the air meant a Portal, and a Portal meant the Clave.

The Institute's Toyota pumped to a stop in front of the Institute. The Blackthorns all emerged: some of them blinking and barely awake (Dru, Mark), some looking quietly suspicious (Ty), and some nervous (Livvy, who was clutching Tavvy tightly). Windspear was waiting with Kieran and Dearil a good distance out of sight from the Institute.

Finn could tell that Julian was hesitant. Anything could be waiting for him on the other side, from the massed array of the Council to a few dozen Clave warriors. Julian knew there would be no more hiding Mark. He knew what his plans were. He knew they balanced, like a million angels, on the head of a pin. Chance, circumstance, and determination held them together. He glanced over and saw Emma looking at him. Though her tired and grimy face didn't break into a smile, he saw her confidence and her trust in him in her eyes. He'd missed one, he thought. Chance, circumstance, determination - and faith.

Julian was the one to open the door.

The light in the entryway was blazingly bright. Both witchlight chandeliers were burning, and the upstairs gallery was illuminated by rows of torches that the family almost never used. Light glowed beneath the doors of the Sanctuary.

In the middle of the room stood Magnus Bane, resplendent in an elegant outfit: a brocade jacket and trousers, his fingers adorned with dozens of rings. Beside him was Clary Fairchild, her bright red hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing a delicate green dress. They both looked as if they had just come from a party.

As Julian and the rest flooded into the room, Magnus raised an eyebrow. "Well, well. Kill the fatted calf and all that. The prodigals have returned."

Clary's hand flew to her mouth. "Emma, Julian-" She whitened. "_Mark?_ Mark Blackthorn?"

Mark stood silent, his ragged pale-blond hair a halo around his head, his pointed ears and polychrome eyes clearly visible in the bright light. His family had grouped themselves around Mark, a loose circle protecting him. Finn wasn't sure how he really felt about the situation - he knew Magnus and Clary well enough to know they hopefully wouldn't be _against_ Mark's return…

Magnus looked hard at Mark before glancing up towards the second floor. "Jace! Get down here!"

Clary made a move towards the Blackthorns, but Magnus pulled her back gently. She was frowning. "Are you all right?" she asked, directing the question to Emma but clearly meaning it for all of them. "Are you hurt?"

Before anyone could speak, there was a commotion at the top of the steps, and a tall figure appeared there.

Jace. It was the first time Julian had really met Jace Herondale, who was famous throughout the Shadowhunter world, Jace had been about seventeen and Julian had been twelve. Emma, who had also been twelve, had not been shy about letting the world know she thought Jace was the handsomest and most amazing person who had ever graced the planet with his presence. Julian had not agreed, but then, no one had asked him.

Jace descended the stairs in a manner that made Finn wonder if Jace thought he had a magnificent train trailing behind him - slowly, deliberately, and as if he were aware that he was the focus of all eyes.

Selina rolled her eyes, probably the only one who was somewhat relaxed under the scrutiny of the famous Shadowhunters and warlock. "Beginning to understand why Artemis took that whole virgin vow…"

Maybe he was just used to being stared at. Emma had stopped going on about Jace at some point, but the Shadowhunter world in general considered him out of the ordinary in terms of looks. His hair was shockingly gold and so were his eyes. Like Magnus and Clary he looked like he had come from a party: He wore a wine-red blazer and an air of casual elegance.

Reaching the bottom step, he glanced towards Julian - covered in blood and dirt - and then towards the rest of them, just as stained.

"Well, either you've been out fighting the forces of evil or you've come from a much wilder party than we have," Jace said. "Hello there, Blackthorns. Finn and Selina, been a while."

"You never call," Finn shrugged.

"Plus Finn's afraid of social interaction," Selina added. Finn elbowed her in the kidney.

Livvy sighed. She was looking at Jace the way Emma had when she was twelve. Dru, loyal to her crush on Diego, just glared.

"Why are you here?" Julian asked, though he knew the answer. Still, it was better to build up the idea that you were surprised. People trusted your answer more when they thought they weren't rehearsed.

"Dark magic," said Magnus. "A huge flare of it on the map. At the convergence site." He slid his gaze towards Emma. "I thought you might do something with that bit of information I gave you. Where the ley lines are concerned, the convergence is always key."

"Why didn't you go there, then?" Emma asked. "To the convergence?"

"Magnus checked it out with a spell," Clary said. "There was nothing there but some wreckage, so we Portaled here."

"From my sister's engagement party, to be precise," Jace interjected. "There was an open bar. And for your information, Finnegan, you and your parabatai _were_ invited."

Selina pulled out her phone and scrolled through her messages. "Oh, so we were. Veon usually keeps tabs on parties."

"Yes, I was surprised that _he_ didn't jump at the opportunity," Magnus muttered.

"Oh!" A look of happiness flitted across Emma's face. "Isabelle's marrying Simon?"

As far as Julian was concerned, no girl had ever been born who could compare to Emma, but when Clary smiled, she was very pretty. Her whole face lit up. It was something she and Emma had in common, actually. "Yeah," Clary said. "He's really happy."

"Mazel tov to them," Jace said, leaning against the banister rail. "Anyway, we were at the party, and Magnus got this alert about necromantic magic near the L.A. Institute, and he tried to reach Malcolm, but no luck. So we snuck out, just the four of us. Which is a big loss to the party if you as me, because I was going to give a toast and it was going to be glorious. Simon would never be able to show his face in public again."

"Dang, I might've liked to see that," Selina murmured.

"Not really the point of an engagement toast, Jace," Clary said. She was looking worriedly at Diego - he _was_ awfully pale.

"Four of you?" Emma looked around the room. "Is Alec here?"

Magnus opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment, the doors of the Sanctuary burst open, and a tall, stocky man with dark hair emerged: Robert Lightwood, the current Inquisitor, second in command to the Consul of Idris, and in charge of investigating Shadowhunters who had broken the Law.

Julian had met the Inquisitor exactly once before, when he'd been forced to stand up in front of the Council and give his account of Sebastian's attack on the Institute. He remembered holding the Mortal Sword in his hand. The feeling of the truth being dragged out of you with knives and hooks, of your internal organs tearing apart. He had never lied when he was asked about the attack, had never wanted or planned to. But it hurt just the same. And bearing the Mortal Sword, even for such a short time, had forged an indelible bond in his mind between truth and pain.

The Inquisitor strode towards him. He was a little older than the Robert Lightwood Julian remembered, his hair more liberally streaked with gray. But the look in his dark blue eyes was the same: hard and cold.

"What's going on here?" he demanded. "There was a flare of necromantic magic traced to this Institute several hours ago and your uncle claims to know nothing about it. More troubling, he refused to tell us where _you_ disappeared to." He spun around, his eyes raking their group - and landing on Mark. "Mark Blackthorn?"

"I already said that," Clary volunteered. Finn had the feeling she wasn't overly fond of her prospective father-in-law - if he was that. Finn realized he didn't know if Jace and Clary had plans to get married.

"Yes," Mark said. He was standing upright as if facing a firing squad. He met Robert Lightwood's eyes, and Finn saw the Inquisitor flinch at the sight of Wild Hunt eyes in a Shadowhunter's face.

They were an accusation against the Clave, those eyes. They said, '_You abandoned me. You did not protect me. I was alone_.'

"I have come back," Mark said firmly.

"The Wild Hunt would never have released you," said the Inquisitor. "You were far too valuable to them. And faeries don't give back what they take."

"Robert-" Magnus began

"Tell me I'm wrong. Magnus? Anyone?"

Magnus was silent, his unhappiness evident. Jace's gold eyes were unreadable.

Dru made a frightened, stifled sound.

"Robert." A firm voice called out from the Sanctuary where Robert had come from. Finn's heart jumped as he saw a flash of curly orange hair. "How many times must I tell you that yelling doesn't help?"

Merida Scion was a firm presence. She wore clothes similar to Diego, a battle suit covered mostly by a heavy cloak pinned at the shoulder by a badge proclaiming her a High Centurion. Finn hadn't seen her in ages; she looked like she'd aged a decade. Finn didn't have a lot of memories of his mother remaining, but he could definitely see Ellesmira Scion in her daughter.

"What's the old saying about catching more flies with honey?"

"You catch more flies with honey than vinegar." Aaron Half-Light walked out of the Sanctuary behind Merida, standing at attention slightly behind and to her side. He appeared to have been de-Astraled, with his normal dull brown eyes. Finn wondered how much Ace had left with Aaron, if he'd told Merida anything.

"Right, that."

Finnegan's eyes met with Merida's. Her eyes shimmered with mirth, but also a warning: '_Later. We will have a talk._'

"It's not fair to interrogate them," Clary agreed. "They're just kids."

"Don't you think I remember the trouble you and Jace got into when you were 'just kids'?" Robert retorted.

"He has a point." Jace smiled at Julian and Emma, and the smile was like gold melted over steel. You could see how the softness was a disguise, and how what lay under it had won Jace the title of best Shadowhunter of his generation.

"We didn't use any necromancy," Julian said. "We didn't need to. The thing about fairies - they're always willing to make a deal."

Two figures appeared in the doorway of the Sanctuary. Merida and Aaron parted, allowing them through. Anselm Nightshade, his sharp, bony face wary. And beside him, Arthur, looking tired and carrying a glass of wine. Julian had left the full bottle in the Sanctuary earlier that night. It was good vintage. The protected space of the Sanctuary extended slightly past the doors. Anselm edged a toe over the line, winced, and quickly pulled it back.

"Arthur. You claimed you were discussing Sophocles with Anselm Nightshade all evening?" Robert Lightwood questioned.

"'If you try to cure evil with evil you will add more pain to your fate,'" Arthur responded.

Robert raised an eyebrow.

"He's quoting Antigone," Merida said, crossing her arms and leaning against the door of the Sanctuary. "He means 'yes.'"

"Come into the room, Arthur," Robert ordered. "Please do not give me the impression you're hiding in the Sanctuary."

"When you use that voice, _I_ want to hide in the Sanctuary," Magnus muttered.

He had begun wandering around the room, picking up objects and setting them down. His actions appeared idle, but Finn knew better. Magnus did little without premeditation. Neither did Jace. Jace was sitting on the lowest step of the stairs, his sharp gaze unwavering. Even Merida and Aaron had taken positions on either side of the Sanctuary doors, leaning against them with their arms crossed, mirror images of each other. Their gazes were observant and yet appeared neutral.

Julian cleared his throat. "My younger brothers and sisters have nothing to do with this. And Tavvy is exhausted. He was almost killed tonight."

"What?" Alarm darkened Clary's green eyes. "How did _that_ happen?"

"I'll explain. Just let them go."

Merida jabbed a thumb up the stairs of the foyer. "They can leave. No use threatening the younger ones unless Julian is uncooperative. And I believe he is willing to work with us." She gave a glare to Robert in case he wanted to put up an argument, but after a moment he nodded curtly.

Relief washed through Julian as Ty, Livvy, and Dru headed up the steps, Livvy still carrying Octavian against her shoulder. At the top, Ty paused for a moment and looked down. He was looking at Mark, and the expression on his face was fearful.

"It is the disease of tyranny to trust no friends, Inquisitor," said Anselm Nightshade. "At least the Centurion knows."

"Aeschylus," Merida agreed.

"I did not come here, from my daughter's engagement party, for a classics lesson," Robert said. "Nor is this Downworlder business. Please wait for us in the Sanctuary, Anselm."

Arthur passed his glass to Anselm, who raised it ironically but went, seeming relieved to get away from the demarcation line where hallowed ground began.

The moment he was gone, Robert rounded on Arthur. "What do you know about all this, Blackthorn?"

"A convoy came to us from Faerie," said Arthur. "They offered to return Mark to his family, and in exchange, we would help them discover who was killing faeries in Los Angeles."

"And you said nothing of this to the Clave? Despite knowing you were breaking the Law, the Cold Peace-"

"I wanted my nephew back. Wouldn't you have done the same, for your family?"

"You're a Shadowhunter. If you must choose between your family and the Law you choose the Law!"

"Lex malla, lex nulla. You know our family motto."

"He did the right thing." For once, there was no humor in Jace's voice. "I would have done the same."

"Any of us would," Finn said.

Robert looked exasperated. "And did you discover it? Who was killing faeries?"

"We discovered it tonight," Julian said. "It was Malcolm Fade."

Magnus stiffened, his cat eyes flashing. "_Malcolm?_" he executed a quick about-face and marched towards Julian. "And why do you think it was a warlock? Because we know magic? Is all dark magic to be blamed on us, then?"

"Because he said he did it."

Clary's mouth fell open. Jace remained seated, face unreadable as a cat's.

"Finn?" Merida asked.

He nodded. "Malcolm admitted to it. He gave a long monologue."

Robert's expression darkened. "Arthur. You're the head of this Institute. Talk. Or are you going to leave that to your nephew?"

"There are things," Julian said, "things we didn't tell Arthur. Things he doesn't know."

Arthur put his hand to his head, as if it pained him. "If I've been deceived, then let Julian explain it."

Robert's hard gaze swept over their group and fastened on Diego. He whirled on Merida, who raised an eyebrow as if Robert wasn't glaring lasers at everything his eyes fell upon. "Centurion, I expect you to handle your subordinate properly."

Merida stepped forward from the door, looking more exasperated than Robert. She walked over to the group. "Centurion Rosales, step forward."

Julian tensed. Diego. He hadn't factored him in, but Diego was a Centurion, and as such, sworn to tell the truth to the Clave. Of course Robert would want Diego to talk instead of Julian. He knew there was no real reason for Robert to want to talk to him at all. He didn't run the Institute. Arthur did. Never mind that he'd been answering Robert's letters for years and recognized Robert's way of doing things better than anyone else here; never mind that in official correspondence, at least, they knew each other well. He was just a teenage boy.

"Yes ma'am?" Diego said.

"Speak to us of Malcolm Fade."

Diego glanced at Aaron, but quickly returned his eyes to Merida. "Malcolm isn't who you think. He has been responsible for countless deaths. He was responsible for the deaths of Emma's parents."

Robert shook his head. "How is that possible? The Carstairs were murdered by Sebastian Morgenstern."

At the sound of Sebastian's name, Clary went pale. She looked immediately over at Jace, who matched her glance - a look woven through with years of shared history.

"No," Clary said. "They weren't. Sebastian was a murderer, but Emma has never believed that he was responsible for her parents' deaths, and neither have Jace or I."

Merida began pacing, her boots clacking gently against the tile floor. "The death of the Carstairs was very suspicious. Sebastian killed many Shadowhunters, but why would he use a necromantic spell upon Emma's parents and them alone? The spell didn't even work, as evidence by the bodies' state afterwards. And today we see evidence of necromantic activity once again - involved here in L.A., once again."

"You knew it was necromantic spells that killed them?" Emma exclaimed.

"I investigated it recently. Long story short, we were already investigating some things here in California and something as suspicious as your parents' deaths came up. While others dismissed the idea of it being relevant, I figured better safe than sorry. We were slightly delayed by the fact that pictures of their bodies had been stolen."

Emma clamped her mouth shut, but Merida simply smiled at her.

Clary turned to look at Emma. "You were right," she said. "I always thought you would be proved right someday. But I'm sorry it was Malcolm. He was your friend."

"And mine," Magnus said, his voice strained. Clary moved towards him, placing her hand on his arm.

"He was also the High Warlock," Robert said. "How did this happen? What do you mean he'd been murdering people?"

"A series of killings in Los Angeles," Diego explained. "He was convincing mundanes to commit murder and then harvesting their bodies for parts he could use in necromancy."

"The Clave should have been called in." Robert sounded furious. "The Clave should have been called in the moment a faerie convoy approached you-"

"Inquisitor." Diego sounded tired. The whole right shoulder of his gear was dark red with blood. "I am a Centurion. I answer directly to the Council. I didn't report what was happening either, because once things were in motion, reporting would have meant slowing things down." He didn't look at Cristina. "The Clave would have begun the investigation over again. There was no time, and the life of a child hung in the balance." He put his hand to his chest. "If you wish to strip me of my medallion, I would understand. But I will maintain to the end that the Blackthorns did what was right."

Merida sighed and stepped forward. Diego bowed his head and then knelt before her. He was clearly in pain, but he maintained his composure.

"I'm sorry, High Centurion. But I will not say I regret my actions."

Her eyes narrowed. "Forgive me Robert, but this is _my_ subordinate. No one will decide his fate tonight but me."

She reached down towards his shoulder where his Centurion pin held his cloak. Then she bypassed it and grabbed him by the ear and twisted it, hauling him to his feet by the small appendage. That, combined with his wounds, made him hiss in pain.

"Diego Rocio Rosales, you have caused me a _world_ of trouble these last few days! Nevermind the fact that you nearly killed a fellow Shadowhunter in your haste, but you refused contact and made me come out here all the way from the Carpathian Mountains just to scold you!"

"We Portaled here," Aaron pointed out.

"Not the point! I tried to send Aaron to retrieve you, and you evaded his advances and even distracted him with some faerie business. I had to leave someone else in charge, and while I enjoy stepping out, I hate leaving others to do my job for me! You will not be stripped of your medallion, Rosales, because you're not going to get out of the paperwork this has caused me!"

She released the squirming Diego, who rubbed his ear. At least he had the decency to look guilty.

Merida took a deep breath and instantly recomposed herself. When she next spoke, her voice was flat and official as it had been before. "There are very few Centurions these days. You are one of the best, Rocio Rosales." She turned around and jabbed him in the stomach. Finn snorted as he recognized Merida's subtle elbowing skills. "But if you _ever_ act that stupid again, I may have your head on a pike." She looked at Diego critically, at his bloody arm and exhausted face. "The Council will expect a report from _you_ tomorrow. And you will be helping _me_ with the reports that I now have to file - as well as the work that must be done to make up for my absence at the Scholomance. For now, you may see to your wounds."

"I'll go with him," Cristina volunteered. Merida nodded passively.

Cristina helped Diego up the stairs, him leaning on her slender frame. Mark looked up at them and then away as they disappeared past the witchlight, into the shadows.

"Robert," Merida spoke up once more once they were gone. "When Julian was twelve, he testified in front of the Council. It's been five years. Let him talk now."

"He's been raising a bunch of children in the wake of their parents' death," Finn agreed. "If nothing else, he's mature for his age, believe me. We've been observing them recently. Julian's been in charge in areas that Arthur has not been."

Despite the look of clear reluctance on his face, Robert nodded. "Very well. Everyone wants to hear you speak, Julian Blackthorn. So speak."

Julian spoke calmly and without flourishes. He began to describe the investigation, from the first bodies found to their realization of Malcolm's guilt.

Finn wondered how things would have turned out differently if Sebastian Morgenstern hadn't attacked the L.A. Institute five years ago. For years now, there had been two Julians that his family had known - that Emma in particular had known. Julian before the attack, who was like everyone else - loving his family but annoyed by them too; a brother among brothers and sisters with whom he squabbled and argued and teased and laughed. And then Julian _after_. Julian, still a child, teaching himself how to feed and change a baby, cooking four different meals for four younger siblings who liked and disliked different things; Julian hiding his uncle's sickness from a mass of adults who would have taken his children away from him; Julian waking up from screaming nightmares that something had happened to Ty or Livvy or Dru.

Emma had been there to hold him, but she had never quite understood - how could she have, when she didn't know about Arthur, didn't know how alone Julian truly was? She only knew that the nightmares had faded and a quiet strength had settled over Jules, a hard determination before which the softness of childhood gave way. He hadn't been a boy in a long, long time. It had been that boy that Emma had thought could be her parabatai. She would never have fallen in love with that Julian. But she had fallen in love with this one, without knowing it, because how could you fall in love with someone you only half-guessed existed?

Did Mark recognize the same dissonance in some way, the strangeness in how Julian stood and spoke to the Inquisitor now, as if they were two adults together? Did he see the care with which Julian told the story of what had happened: the key details he left out, the way he made it seem natural, inevitable, that they hadn't told the Clave what they were doing? The way he left out Kit and Johnny Rook, Finn's former knowledge of Fionn. He wove a tale of a series of events that was nobody's fault, that no one could have foreseen or prevented, and he did it without a shred of guile ever showing on his face.

When he was done, Emma shivered inside. She loved Julian, she would always love Julian. But for just that moment, she was a little afraid of him too.

"Malcolm was creating _murderers?_" Robert echoed when Julian had stopped speaking.

"It makes sense," Magnus said. He stood with his chin cupped in his hand, one long finger tapping against his cheekbone. "One of the reasons necromancy is forbidden is that so many necessary ingredients are things like the hand of a murderer who killed in cold blood, or the eye of a hanged man which still holds the image of the last thing he saw. Obtaining those ingredients by orchestrating the situations that create them was ingenious." He seemed to notice Robert glaring at him. "Very evil, also," he added. "Very. No wonder Malcolm targeted Veon when he offered to help - he would've easily recognized the necromantic ingredients and how they could be obtained."

"Your nephew tells a convincing story, Arthur," Robert said. "But you are notably absent from it. How did you not notice all this was going on?"

Julian had woven his story to make Arthur's absence seem natural. But Robert was like a dog with a bone. Probably why he was elected to the position of Inquisitor.

"Robert," Clary said. "There's no need for this. They made difficult decisions, but they weren't wrong decisions."

"Then let me ask Arthur this, Clary. What punishment would he choose for Nephilim, even young Nephilim, who break the Law?"

"Well, that would depend," Arthur said, "on whether they were punished already, five years ago, by losing their father and brother and sister."

Robert flushed darkly. "It was the Dark War that took their family-"

"It was the Clave that took Mark and Helen," Finn interjected.

"We expect betrayal from our enemies," Magnus said. "Not from those who are supposed to care for us."

"We would have protected Mark," said Robert. "There was no need to fear the Clave."

Arthur was pale, his eyes dilated. Yet Emma had never heard him speak so eloquently, or with such clarity. It was bizarre. "Would you have?" he demanded. "In that case, why is Helen still at Wrangel Island?"

"She's safer there," Robert snapped. "There are those - not myself - who still hate the faeries for the betrayal of the Dark War. How do you think they would treat her if she were among other Shadowhunters?"

"So you couldn't have protected Mark," Arthur said. "You admit it."

Before Robert could speak, Julian said, "Uncle Arthur, you can tell him the truth."

Arthur looked puzzled; as clear-headed as he had seemed, he didn't seem to know what Julian meant. He was breathing quickly, too, as he had in the Sanctuary when his head pained him.

Julian turned to Robert. "Arthur wanted to go to the Council as soon as the Fair Folk brought Mark here. We begged him not to. We were afraid our brother would be taken away. We asked Finnegan to use his position to convince him not to."

Finn shrugged. "I study faeries, my sister works for the Scholomance. I could deal with faeries for the sake of Mark and his family."

"We thought if we could just solve the murders, if Mark helped us do it, it might make him look better in the eyes of the Council. Help convince them to let him stay."

"But do you understand what you did?" the Inquisitor demanded. "Malcolm - if he was in pursuit of dark power - he could have posed a threat to all the Clave." Robert didn't sound convinced, though.

"He wasn't in pursuit of power," Julian said. "He wanted to raise someone he loved back from the dead. It was evil, what he did. And he's died for it, as he should have. But it was his only goal and only plan. He never cared about the Clave or Shadowhunters. He only cared about her."

"Poor Malcolm," Magnus said quietly. "To lose the person he loved, that way. We all knew that he had loved a girl who had become an Iron Sister. Veon said he suspected Malcolm knew more than he let on, but we had no idea of the truth."

"Robert," Jace said. "These kids haven't done anything wrong."

"Perhaps not, but I'm the Inquisitor. I can hardly conceal this. With Malcolm Fade dead, having taken the Black Volume to the bottom of the ocean with him, and with all of this having happened without the head of the Institute having noticed-"

"_I_ did it," Finn volunteered. "I convinced Arthur to hear the faeries out, and I allowed the children to continue their investigation while keeping Arthur out of it. I've always been a Downworlder supporter, and the Cold Peace didn't change that. If you have to punish a Head, then punish _me_. You put me in charge hastily after the untimely death of my uncle. I'm inexperienced, a sympathizer who puts emotion before duty, and you can punish me for distracting Arthur and aiding his kids - guiding them down the wrong path of secrecy."

Julian stepped forward. "There's something Uncle Arthur isn't telling you. He wasn't just letting us run around wild while he did _nothing_. Finn had him tracking down a different source of dark magic."

Julian looked at Magnus as he spoke. Magnus, who had helped them in the past. He seemed to be willing Magnus to understand and believe him.

"It's no coincidence that Anselm Nightshade is in the Sanctuary," Julian went on in a hard voice. "Arthur brought him because he knew you were coming."

Robert raised an eyebrow. "Is that true? Arthur?"

"You'd better tell them," Julian said, looking hard at his uncle. "They're going to find out anyway."

"I-" Arthur was staring at Julian. There was a blankness on his face that made Finn's stomach knot up. Julian appeared to be almost willing Arthur to follow his lead. "I didn't want to mention it, because it seemed to pale in comparison to what we learned about Malcolm."

"Mention what?"

"Nightshade's been using dark magic for profit," Selina said. She kept her expression calm, a touch regretful. "He's been making money hand over fist using addictive powders in the pizza he makes."

"That's…totally right!" Emma said, speaking over Arthur's stunned silence. "There are people all over the city so addicted that they would do anything for him just to get more."

"Pizza thralls?" Jace asked. "This is without a doubt the _weirdest_-" He broke off as Clary stomped on his foot. "Seems serious," he said. "I mean, addictive demon powders and all."

Julian crossed the room to the hall closet and yanked it open. Several pizza boxes slid out.

"Magnus?" Julian prompted.

Magnus threw the end of his scarf over his shoulder and approached Julian and the boxes. He lifted the lid of a pizza box with as much gravity as if he were opening a locked treasure chest. He held his hand out over the box, turning it from left to right. Then he looked up.

"Arthur's right. Dark magic."

A cry echoed from inside the Sanctuary. "Betrayal!" Anselm shouted. "_Et tu, Brute?_"

"He can't get out," Arthur said, looking dazed. "The outside doors are locked."

Robert took off running into the Sanctuary. After a moment, Jace and Clary followed, leaving only Magnus (hands in his pockets, remaining in the foyer), Merida (lips twitching as a smile threatened to break through), and Aaron (who looked utterly confused).

Magnus regarded Julian with serious green-gold eyes. "Nicely done. I don't know quite how else to describe it, but…nicely done."

Julian looked over at Arthur, who was leaning back against the wall by the Sanctuary door, his eyes half-shut, pain etched on his face. "I'll burn in Hell for this," he muttered in a low voice.

"There is no shame in burning for your family," Mark said. "I will burn beside you gladly."

"And so will I," Emma said.

"I've accepted I'm gonna burn in Hell one way or another, so I might as well go out with a bang," Finn sighed.

Emma looked at Magnus. "I'm sorry. I'm the one who killed Malcolm. I know he was your friend, and I wish-"

"He _was_ my friend," Magnus agreed, his eyes darkening. "I knew he had loved someone who died. I didn't know the rest of the story. The Clave betrayed him, just like they betrayed you. I've lived a long time - I've seen many betrayals, and many broken hearts. There are those who let their grief devour them, Who forget that others also feel pain. If Alec died…" He looked down at his hands. "I have to think I wouldn't be like that."

"Magnus, you taught Veon everything he knows, right?" Selina asked.

"Pretty much, yes. He didn't get his charm from just _anywhere_."

Selina smiled. "Well considering all that he's gone through, who he is, I'd say you taught him how to react to grief just fine. Therefore I have to believe that you're strong enough and aware enough to be better. And you've seen Tessa, too. Living, loving, losing - it doesn't _all_ have to end with hatred. And sorrow doesn't have to make you worse. Grief means you're human, and being human means you hurt. Hurting doesn't end in destruction. Sometimes it can make you better."

Magnus slipped into a warm smile. As always, an immortal was overshadowed by the fear of what eternity could do to them. But it didn't always have to end in tragedy. Tragedy didn't always lead to hatred.

"Veon's at his apartment being patched up, right?" Magnus recalled. "I should check on him, see if he's up for Isabelle's engagement party. Congratulate him on not dying through all this. And my incredible parenting skills, of course."

"Can I come?" Selina asked.

"Seels." Finn nudged her.

"But I want a _party!_ After all that's been happening, can't you let me have this? There's an open bar!"

"I'm just glad I finally know what happened to my parents," Emma said. "Finally, I know."

Before anyone could add anything, there was an explosion of noise at the entrance to the Sanctuary. Merida frowned and nodded to Aaron as the pair rushed into the Sanctuary without a word. There were noises of conflict coming from inside, but Jace appeared suddenly, skidding backwards, his fancy blazer ripped and his blond hair mussed. He turned a smile on the rest of them, so bright it seemed to light up the room.

"Clary's got Nightshade pinned in the corner," he said. "He's pretty nimble for such an old vampire. Thanks for the exercise, by the way - and to think I thought tonight was going to be boring!"

"Herondale, get your ass in here now!" Merida shouted.

"Gotta go." He gave them a two-fingered salute with a grin and dashed back inside the Sanctuary.

* * *

"Well _that_ went well," Selina said.

"Smooth as it _could_, anyways." Merida brushed off her cloak, which had barely gotten dusty in the scuffle.

"It could've been worse," Finn admitted.

After everything had been sorted out with the Inquisitor, who had hauled off Anselm Nightshade (still vowing revenge), and most of the Institute's inhabitants had crawled off to bed, the three friends went to the front door and sauntered out.

"Robert and I will work together to weave Julian's tale properly to the others in the Clave," Merida assured them. "I think you'll be stripped of your rank as Head of the San Francisco Institute, Finn. At least temporarily. Someone will be sent in. You might get some leniency for being young and new to the position."

"But after 18, age barely seems to matter," Selina said. "You're adult, you do you. Even back in the day the debate between women being too _emotional_ to run an Institute or be Consul still gave women a lot of agency to fight back and many Shadowhunters supported them. You'd be considered old enough to have dealt with it."

"People have ascended to positions of power during more stressful times," Merida pointed out.

Finn shrugged. "Fine by me. Less paperwork. Not like I was using the position for anything anyway. Granted there weren't a lot of things to do. All the action happened here in L.A."

Merida's gentle smile felt reserved, as though she was constantly on guard for how she appeared. "Quite so. Anyway, now that that's over with, why don't you tell me what _really_ happened?"

Finn barely hesitated to go into explaining the small details that Julian left out or didn't fully understand. He _did_ pause to consider telling Merida about Aaron; as far as Merida was aware, Diego had diverted his attention when Aaron had come after him, directing him to an investigation of some faerie shenanigans - which the Centurions were authorized to look into - so that Aaron wouldn't get involved in the Blackthorn's business. Ace had obviously been able to handle the situation with ease and had plenty of time to spare to get up to the secret deeds that he had been, but Ace had shown off his power a bit at the convergence. He had no idea what Diego knew, but he decided to omit the information on Aaron and Ace being the same person since Aaron wasn't aware of Ace possessing him - or so Finn knew.

"I'm sorry, Finn," Merida said. She placed her hand on his; he could feel her calluses and the strength behind her grip. "He was a good guy. A good faerie."

Finnegan mused how surprised he should've been. Once, Merida wouldn't have trusted _any_ of his Downworlder friends, and after the Cold Peace, she should have been even _more_ cautious of a faerie. Any normal Shadowhunter _would_ have been. The Penhallows had been afraid that Hellen - a half-faerie who had more than proven herself a loyal Shadowhunter - would break Aline's heart because of her blood.

For Merida to say such things about Fionn with the little that she knew about him and her wariness about Downworlders…well that meant a lot more than Finnegan could express. Maybe it was her time in the Scholomance that changed her, but overall it was Merida who gave her sympathies with genuine Merida-ness that Finnegan couldn't ever forget from his sister/best-friend who he'd grown up with.

"He…he might not be gone for _good_, ya know?"

Merida's eyes that were a reflection of his own were hard as stone. She was his sister, and so she needed to be willing to tell the hard truth. "Finn, you saw what happened when Malcolm obsessed over getting back his loved one. Don't go down that path or I'll be the one to stop you."

"I know, I know, Merida." He couldn't help the tremor that shook his spine when she said that so seriously. He had no doubt that she'd take him out if he went too far. It was bad enough that she was covering for him as a faerie ally, but if Merida needed to prove her loyalties, he honestly wasn't sure if she'd even hesitate to put duty before family.

A part of him said that he'd _want_ Merida to do such a thing. She had such a good life going for her. Finn had always felt like he was holding Merida back; she'd been superior in training as a kid and he knew that Merida could go so much further if she just left Finn in the dust. But she had insisted on staying with him and Selina. She'd worried about being lonely back when she announced she might be going to the Scholomance. But Merida knew how to get along with other Shadowhunters, to deal with them. Now she was a High Centurion, in a great position that allowed her a lot of respect - all rightfully earned. Finnegan was torn between wanting Merida's help and wanting Merida to stay with the Clave and the Law even if it meant they'd be enemies.

"So…gods, huh?"

Finn smiled. The way she said it made Merida seem so much more down-to-earth. Just like his sister to take such a thing in stride though.

Selina shrugged. "Yeah, no biggie."

Merida sighed. "I always knew Faerie was vast, but I never assumed it'd be involved with so many gods. Then again, I really shouldn't expect anything but _everything_ from Faerie."

"Gods have always existed, we never stopped," Selina said. She held her hand up towards the fading moonlight. It was nearly dawn. The sunrise was far in the distance, at the easter edge of the beach's curve. A pearlescent lightening of the water, as if white paint were spilling onto the world through a crack in the sky. "They don't interfere with the affairs of mortals because of a thing called the AEGIS Covenant. It was made thousands of years ago and separated all supernaturals from regular humans because of the many wars and conflicts back in the day."

"Like with all that mythology with monsters constantly roaming the world."

She nodded. "Right. Those are _all_ true. All the stories are true, right? There was a lot of bloodshed, and some supernaturals posed the idea of keeping humans as cattle rather than wiping them out. Over many years, the Covenant was born and rectified over and over until there were somewhat equal rights and systems built to cater to all supernaturals to protect the majority of humans. When the demon invasion that spurred the creation of artificial Nephilim through the Mortal Cup - rather than pureborn Nephilim made the old fashioned way - they were their own branch of the Covenant. A lot of the gods supported Raziel's decision to make artificial Nephilim rather than the more dangerous natural-born ones, but others still feared that any Nephilim was a bad one. In the end, it was Raziel and his God who made the final decision."

"So what happened?" Finn asked.

"A lot of debating, for one thing. The Nephilim were wreaking havoc on the order of the Covenant, asserting their dominance without agreeing to the terms of being under the AEGIS Covenant. Because they were a new species, it took time to draw up rules for them - like an invasive species. The original documents stipulated that Nephilim were allowed to exterminate unauthorized and hostile demonic presences as long as they were protecting regular humans. Of course, Shadowhunters took _any_ demonic presence as hostile even if they weren't, and so anything that wasn't a mundane was killed. Shadowhunters got hunted in retaliation, and the olden days of mindless slaughter nearly gripped society again.

"On top of that, we had the threat of the Scourge throwing us into disarray. It was only when the Founder of the Covenant - the one who managed to bring together all the supernaturals for peace - stepped in that Nephilim were put in their place. Raziel himself was scolded for his creation's actions - though I doubt the stiff could be chastised even by the Founder - and the Accords were one of many efforts to make peace. Still, that was hundreds of years of turmoil and refining Nephilim powers and their limitations. Nephilim are still human. They age, they die, they pass on their positions to their successors. People forget lessons they learn over the generations; no human system can last peacefully forever. There are some Silent Brothers or Iron Sisters who know about the gods, but anyone who's just a regular human can never know. As always, gods are not allowed to interfere in mortal affairs in any way that can alter the course of fate."

"What about all those times the gods helped out in Greek Mythology?" Merida asked.

"The Greeks came long before the Covenant, as far as I'm aware. In relative terms against the length that most gods have existed, the Covenant is relatively new - just a couple millennia old."

"So, did the rules surrounding Nephilim change beyond 'Hunt demons, protect humans?'" Finn asked.

"Oh yeah. But most of that is in the Clave's Law. The Astral world is in disarray, but a lot of us were already vouching to refine the Accords and the Nephilim branch of the Covenant long ago. If we weren't in such chaos, the Dark War probably would've been the push we needed to get shit done. As it stands, the Dark War was reflected by a war in the Astral realm that nearly tore us apart."

"The Ifrit War?"

She nodded. "It happened earlier in the century, but wars in the mortal realm reflect into the celestial realm often."

"Sounds stressful." Merida leaned against the side of the building. "Wars are happening all the time. It's human nature to be at war."

"Oh, it is. I try to stay out of that kind of stuff…except when I'm dragged in by force," she muttered. "But what if it's the gods constantly at war that're causing human conflict? Huh?"

"It's a real chicken-and-the-egg situation."

Finn once again couldn't help but admire how mature Merida looked. Even leaning against a wall, she looked like she had the situation entirely under her control - even when talking about a subject she was so out of her depth about.

The door to the Institute popped open and Aaron Half-Light walked through.

Inside, Finn caught a peek of Mark and he heard Jace Herondale speaking: "I'd be polite and say you've changed, but you haven't."

"I have," Mark said. "Just not in a way you can see."

"A scientist said once that if the ocean were as clear as the sky, if we could see everything in it, no one would ever go into the sea. It's that horrifying, what lives in the water, five miles down."

"There speaks one who does not know the terrors of the sky."

Aaron closed the door behind him. "We're done here," Aaron said. "Mark's staying. He was never exiled, and the only rule was that the Blackthorns couldn't look for him. They didn't; he found his way home and they can't change that. And, I think, after the help he gave with Malcolm, it would be a very unpopular move if they tried."

Aaron explained how Julian had been emptying the dregs of the vials Malcolm gave him for Arthur's clarity into a bottle of wine, just in case, and left the wine with the super-dosage in the Sanctuary. He realized at the convergence that they would need Arthur to be clear-headed when they returned, to be functioning. He'd called Arthur, told him he needed to offer the wine to Anselm and drink some himself, knowing it would only affect his uncle. He'd done a terrible thing, dosing his uncle without his knowledge, planting boxes in the foyer the first time they'd ordered it, just in case, and done a terrible thing to Anselm, who did not deserve the punishment he was likely to get. Julian himself was wracked with guilt, but-

"You gotta give the guy credit for thinking ahead," Selina said. "I'd almost say he's on par with my own partial-omnipotence."

"Partial-omnipotence?" Finn repeated.

She shrugged. "Just being able to predict things right sometimes."

"Diego?" Merida asked.

"Has a deep cut surrounded by the red blister-burn of dark magic," Aaron said. "Healing runes are nearly ineffective. A couple hits from Malcolm's magic too. Cristina's patched him up, though she did have to cut his body gear off him and his shirt."

"We'll have to wait for him to recover enough to return."

"You'll keep Arthur's secret?" Finn asked.

"Julian is nearly 18. He'll be old enough to officially run the Institute soon enough, and he's been doing it well already. I see no reason to out him now - it would only slow down the process of proving he is worthy of leading his Institute and raising his family. Julian is a fine Shadowhunter, even if he's put his family before the Law. He's managed a balance between Law and family and it hasn't become a problem beyond recent events. Even then, he's maintained a sense of planning and determination that's not to be ignored."

Finn scanned the horizon. Dawn was spreading. The road and the highway, the desert trees, all were thrown into sharp relief by the increasing light. And there by the edge of the roan stood Kieran, looking out towards the sea. All that could be seen was his shadow, but even as a shadow Kieran could never be anyone else.

"I should check on…"

"Go." Merida whacked him on the small of his back, shoving him forward. "Go get your guy. Er - girl."

Selina smiled her evil, evil smile. "Good thing he's bisexual."

Finn punched his parabatai in the arm so hard he could feel the throbbing himself. He went down the steps and over to where Kieran was standing. As he departed, he heard Selina say something about nearly forgetting and rushed inside the Institute.

Kieran had not changed his clothes, and the blade of his sword, which hung by his side, was stained with gore. The cursed knife at his hip swirled with a living mist from within.

"She awoke recently, however she is not lucid."

Dearil was lying on her side in the grass. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she was muttering things in the fey language.

"She calls for her mother." Kieran seemed pensive. While Finnegan could read many expressions on Fionn's face with enough practice, Kieran worked differently than his brother. "She mistook me for my mother."

Finnegan knelt before her. Still outfitted in garb that was too big for her, he considered asking Selina to go get some clothes that might fit her from their Institute. Her hair was in an agitated state, flickering a dark maroon, her complexion was pale, and her breathing was strained. He put his hand to her forehead, sweeping her hair out of the way. She was in a cold sweat.

"She might be getting sick. Unsurprising, considering the night that she's gone through."

"Set ablaze a campfire," Kieran recommended. "Fionn would recover from devastating wounds as well as illness through extreme heat."

"No reason to believe she's not the same," he agreed. Just in case, he pulled out some paper meant for fire messages and drew a heat rune on it until it caught ablaze. He held the flame up to her finger, and when it didn't do any damage, he rolled her onto her back and placed it into her forehead.

Dearil's eyes slipped closed and she sucked in a deep breath. The flame was absorbed into her person completely, leaving a charred pile of ashes. He swept them off of her. She seemed to be sleeping a little easier.

"Good news Finn!" Selina came running up with a bundle of fabric in her arms. "Got clothes that'll hopefully fit Dearil. Hopefully."

"You didn't borrow from the Blackthorns, did you? We have plenty of clothes back at _our_ Institute-"

"No, no I bought this back when we went to Hidden Treasures, and Merida loaned a couple things too. She had an extra uniform on her. It's not very faerie-like, but it'll serve her a little better than those baggy clothes that are too big for her."

She approached Dearil, but Finnegan glanced around. "You're gonna change her _here?_"

Selina paused. She looked like she hadn't thought about that. "Oh, right. Should I take her to the Sanctuary?"

Finn sighed. "I'll take her." He carefully scooped Dearil into his arm. He was still baffled by how light she was.

The two of them headed back towards the Institute, passing Mark as he approached Kieran. Finn glanced worriedly at Kieran, but the faerie urged him to continue. Reluctantly, Finn left Kieran to face Mark.

"Kieran," Mark said.

"You will stay?" Kieran asked, and then caught himself with a rueful look. "Of course, you will stay."

"If you're asking if I'm going to remain with my family or go back to the Wild Hunt, then yes, you have your answer. The investigation is over. The Murderer and his Followers are gone."

"That was not the letter of the bargain. The Shadowhunters were to release the murderer into the custody of Faerie, for us to mete out justice."

"Given that Malcolm is dead, and the magnitude of Iarlath's betrayal, I expect your folk to look with leniency upon my choice."

"_My_ folk?" Kieran echoed. "You know they are not lenient. They have not been lenient with me."

Mark thought of the first time he had seen Kieran's black eyes staring out defiantly from the table of his dark hair. He thought of the glee of the other Hunters at having princes to torment and mock, how Fionn's eyes had been desperate to protect Kieran against the terrible situation - how his eyes had split even before he drank from Gwyn's bowl from his very vow to be by his brother's side. How Kieran had borne it, with an arrogant curl to his lip and a lift of his chin. How he had borne the fact that his father had thrown him to the Hunt the way a man might throw a bone to a dog. Kieran had so many brothers, but only one had fought to stay by his side. Fionn did not fight to keep Kieran in the Courts, but instead he followed Kieran into the lion's den. And now that brother was gone. Kieran no longer had a brother who loved him and fought to get him back.

"But I will fight for you," Kieran said, meeting Mark's gaze. "I will tell them it is your right to stay." He hesitated. "Will we…see each other again?"

"I'm not sure," Mark said, as gently as he could. "I don't think so, Kieran. Not after all that has happened."

A brief ripple of pain, quickly hidden, passed across Kieran's face. The color of his hair had faded to a silvery-blue, not unlike the shade of the ocean in the morning. "I did not expect a different answer. I hope, though. It is hard to kill hope. But I suppose I lost you a long time ago."

"Not that long. You lost me when you came here with Gwyn and Iarlath and you let them whip my brother. I could forgive you for any pain incurred by me. But I will never forgive you for what Julian and Emma suffered."

"Emma?" Kieran's brows drew together. "I thought it was the other girl who had drawn your fancy. Your princess."

Mark gave a choked laugh. "By the Angel," he said, and saw Kieran blanch at the Shadowhunter words. "Your imagination is limited by your jealousy. Kieran…everyone who lives under this roof, whether they are bound by blood or not, we are tied together by an invisible net of love and duty and loyalty and honor. That is what it means to be a Shadowhunter. Family-"

"What would I know of family? My father sold me to the Wild Hunt. I do not know my mother, her death a crime at the hand of the brother who I held dearest as my only true family. And now even _he_ has vanished from my life, leaving me not even one to direct my rage upon. I have three dozen other brothers, all of whom would gladly see me dead. Mark, you are all I have."

"Kieran-"

"And I love you. You are all that exists on the earth and under the sky that I do love as such."

Mark looked into Kieran's eyes, the silver and the black, and he saw in them, as he always had, the night sky. And he felt that treacherous pull under his rib cage, the one that said that the clouds could be his road. That he need never worry about human concerns: money and shelter and rules and laws. He could ride through the skies over glaciers, through the treetops of forests no human being knew existed. He could sleep in the ruins of cities lost for centuries. His shelter could be a single blanket. He could lie in Kieran's arms and count the stars.

But he had always given the stars his brothers' and sisters' names. There was beauty in the idea of freedom, but it was an illusion. Every human heart was chained by love.

Mark drew his elf-bolt necklace up over his head. He reached out and took Kieran's hand, turning it over so it was palm-up, and dropped the necklace into it.

"I will draw no more bows for the Wild Hunt. Keep this and perhaps remember me."

Kieran's hand tightened on the arrowhead, his knuckles whitening. "The stars will go out before I forget you, Mark Blackthorn. If ever you are in need, Finnegan will know how to summon me safely. But if you are in _dire_ need, you know the ways to send for me of your own accord."

Lightly, Mark touched Kieran's cheek. The faerie prince's eyes were wide and tearless. But in them Mark could see a great wilderness of loneliness. A thousand dark nights spent riding with no home to arrive at. "I do not forgive you. But you came to help us, at the end. I do not know what would have happened if you hadn't. So I will return the favor and say that if you need me - if it is _true_ need - send for me and I will come."

Kieran half-closed his eyes. "Mark-"

But Mark had already turned away. Kieran stood and watched him go, and though he did not move or speak, at the edge of the bluff Windspear reared up and cried out, his hooves pawing at the sky.

* * *

**Chapter title: '_Requiem_' from Dear Evan Hansen**

**Like just the whole thing is so great and I wanted to make all different parts of it into the title.**

**Dear Evan Hansen is not overrated, all you haters. Life is sad, putting the sadness of life into words and music is what makes lots of people feel bittersweetly happy. Same thing for Hamilton. Just because something gets lots of media doesn't mean it's bad.**

**I will not rant about the original Frozen at this time. I will not mention the second**


	23. Won't You Wake Me Up

**Another chapter under 9,000 words! It's so beautiful! (At least it's under 9,000 according to Archive of Our Own, and Fanfic weirdly takes contractions and makes them into separate words so its word count is hardly to be trusted).**

**Of course these last three chapters are short to make up for the fact that the next chapter is 15,000 words, hehehehe…**

**:)**

* * *

When Finnegan and Selina returned, Dearil was now in Selina's arms. She was wearing a flowing dress with a gradient color pattern that went from a dark red to a purple that went well with her current hair color. It was short and simple, with a bateau neckline and a drop-waist that fell to Dearil's hips rather than her actual waist. The end of the skirt flowed loosely down to about knee-length, with black legging shorts peeking out from beneath. Draped around her shoulders was one of the black Centurion cloaks that shimmered a dark blue like Kieran's hair at the right angles, pinned up at the shoulder with a ruby gem rather than a Centurion pin.

"Fits like charm," Selina announced proudly. "And the Centurion cloak should help ward off dirt and blood. I've cloaked the garb as best I can to be faerie-friendly."

"Our first task is to get to Val and see if she can get F - Dearil's memories back," Finn said. "To recap, Dearil has had her memories wiped a previous occasion, along with the memories of every other person who ever knew her during that time."

"Correct. This Dearil here is the original - right up until the point where she made a demon deal to become Fionn. You could say she is the crossroads between Fionn and Lorcan Dearil - the lost Dearil we must restore."

"Kieran." The dark faerie looked up at Finnegan. Finnegan could hardly stand to look at the sorrow in Kieran's eyes, because he knew that they were reflecting his own. But stare at them, he did. Unwavering. "Will you stay with us? At least until we figure out what to do with Dearil and how to get Fionn back."

Kieran hesitated. He had a carefully balanced respect for Finnegan, and at the same time he still saw within him the arrogance of Shadowhunters - no matter how rebellious he was to their Law.

On top of that, Kieran still wasn't sure how he felt about Dearil. This girl was not responsible for killing his mother, and yet the sting of blame still pulsed within him. He wanted someone to hate, though he knew that hate would do nothing for him. Mark had not forgiven him, but at the very least he knew that Mark left open the possibility of them meeting again.

Even so, he was alone. He still clung to the threads of family left in the wake of the blanket of security that had once surrounded him, but he had to accept that he was alone and he needed to deal with that. He had to be self-sufficient - more than that, he was now responsible for taking care of Dearil.

Dearil's eyes were ruby red, not a trace of even the black eye that Fionn had shared with Kieran before they had joined the Hunt. Dearil was not under the service of Gwyn ap Nudd, but Malcolm had transformed her into this to deliver her to the Unseelie Court, meaning that Kieran would be wise not to finish Malcolm's job for him. And yet, would she be any safer in the hands of the Nephilim? Though Finnegan and Selina were not supporters of the Cold Peace, they were still under the Clave's jurisdiction, and any aiding of Dearil would be met with punishment.

"If she is willing, I will bring her to Gwyn," Kieran said. "She is not of the Hunt, and Gwyn would likely not accept her as one of his warriors. But he can aid in finding her safety within Faerieland, perhaps in the Seelie Court."

"And…Fionn?"

"If there are memories to be returned to Dearil, then you may proceed. Others are involved in this memory wipe, many others who once knew her during this period now absent in history. It is not my place to deny them the right to know of this missing past. I will aid in the recovery of Fionn Flann's memories only should your warlock gather the proper plans to do so. There must not be '_we shall see_' or '_we can only hope_.' Regardless, I must return to the Wild Hunt soon, else Gwyn will begin the search for a deserter in both me and Mark."

"Then we get Dearil to Val, restore the memories, and then…you take her to the Hunt," Selina said.

"What? Selina-"

"She's safer in Faerie than here with us. We can't just hide her in the Institute, Finn. We'll tell PR about her and have their branch in Faerie look after her."

"But-"

"I will use our means of communication to call upon you," Kieran said. "When Dearil has found her place, I will be the first to inform you of her current situation. You may visit her as you please, though she will likely know not of your person."

"Meaning you're going to have to build your relationship anew," Selina agreed. "Friendship, anything more than that, it doesn't matter. Regardless, she doesn't know you. If we get Fionn back, then all will be restored, but until then, you need to face the idea that you might need to treat Dearil like a stranger."

Finnegan took a deep breath and held down his urge to scream at the world. At least they had a plan and they had mostly comprehended the situation. "Then let's head over to Veon's place and check if there are updates. If we haven't found a plan by dusk, you can return to the Hunt and explain things to Gwyn."

Kieran nodded. At least Kieran wasn't actively against working with them after everything that happened, but Finn still felt like he was walking on pins and needles with the faerie. He was hard to read and also bared his soul on full display as if daring anyone watching to comment on it so that he'd have an excuse to punch them.

"Then let's go before something _else_ blows up in California," Selina said. "Lord knows what can happen just when you think you've got a reprieve."

* * *

"You're going searching for Malcolm's body?" Merida asked.

"And the Black Volume," Jem agreed.

He and Tessa had shown up at Johnny Rook's place just in time to save his son, Kit Rook, from being eaten by Mantids. Once Malcolm had died, the wards around Johnny's place had gone down and the demons had come. Kit had managed to be saved by texting Emma with his dad's phone - thankfully Johnny hadn't deleted Emma's number out of spite after their last…dodgy encounter. Johnny Rook had been torn apart and eaten by the demons in front of his son.

Emma and Tessa had described Kit as being a Shadowhunter, though the boy tried to deny it. He had reflexes and strength akin to one with angel blood, and when Kit had tried to open the door of the Institute in an effort to prove he wasn't a Shadowhunter, it had popped open easily.

Kit had run and locked himself in one of the rooms threatening to kill anyone who tried to get inside. It was understandable. He'd just lost his father, after all. Johnny Rook was a stubborn man, but in the end he did care for Kit, and Kit lost his only parental figure - the one who had taught him all about the world, no matter how cynical his advice was. Kit was defensive against Shadowhunters because of his father's teachings, even if he was supposedly a Shadowhunter himself and was coming to terms with it, slowly but surely.

Jem had explained the story. Years ago, Tobias Herondale was convicted of desertion. He was sentenced to death, but he could not be found, so the sentence was carried out on his wife instead. She was pregnant. A warlock, Catarina Loss, smuggled the baby to safety in the New World. Tessa used to be Tessa Herondale - she knew of Tobias; his story was a legend of horror. But only a few years ago she was she told by Catarina of the survival of the child. Jem and Tessa decided to find out what had become of the Herondale line. Much searching led them to Johnny Rook - or rather, Jonathan Herondale - and subsequently his son: Christopher Jonathan Herondale, also known as Kit Rook.

"Even leagues underwater, a book like that can still cause us trouble," Jem went on.

Merida nodded. "I'll have to tell the Scholomance about this, you know. They'll want that Black Volume in the Clave's hands. And I can't just order the Centurions not to act if we're given orders from the Clave."

Jem nodded gravely. "I know they'll be getting involved in this soon enough. Tessa and I aren't Shadowhunters, despite the technicalities in play. In the end, it really is better that the Clave be the ones to look into something so dangerous."

"I'm sorry about Malcolm, by the way. I know he was your friend."

"People are more than one thing. Warlocks, no less. I would not even hesitate to say that Malcolm once did much good, before he did evil. It is one of the great lessons of growing up, learning that people can do both."

"The Clave despises love because love is something human beings feel. That's why they make all those Laws, about people not falling in love with Downworlders, or with their parabatai."

"The Clave can be awful. Hidebound and cruel. But some of the things they do are rooted in history. The parabatai Law, for instance. I'm not sure about the access you get in the Scholomance. Do you know about it?"

Merida nodded. "I'm in the First Company." The very best of the graduating class from the Scholomance. "Only a few know, not even the parabatai themselves. Getting _my_ hands on the information wasn't…ideal. But I have my ways. The Silent Brothers, the Consul…I understand the reason why this is so classified, but it still seems risky not to at least tell parabatai after they've already made their oaths."

"The ritual of the parabatai was created so that two Shadowhunters could be stronger together than they were apart. It has always been one of our most powerful weapons. Not everyone has a parabatai, but the fact that they exist is part of what makes Nephilim what they are. Without them, we would be infinitely weaker, in ways it is forbidden for me even to explain. Ideally, the ceremony increases each parabatai's power - runes given to each other are stronger - and the closer the personal bond, the greater the power."

Merida nodded and continued. "Not long after the ritual had been in use for some generations, it was discovered that if the bond was _too_ close, if it tipped into romantic love - then it would begin to warp and change the kind of power that was generated by the spell. One-sided love, a crush even, all that seems to pass by the rule - but real, requited, romantic love? It has a terrible cost."

Jem nodded, his voice low. "Their power would grow. The runes they created would be unlike any others. They would begin to wield magic as warlocks do. But Nephilim are not meant to be magicians for a reason. Eventually, the power would make them mad, until they became as monsters. They would destroy their families, the others they loved. Death would surround them until eventually they died themselves."

"It was meant to be weaponized, you know." Jem glanced at Merida. She was staring out the window of the Institute as the sun rose and dawn swallowed the land. "Long ago, power like that was in the hands of any Nephilim that thought they could survive the process - and not a lot did. Back when demons roamed the world freely during the initial invasion, Shadowhunters needed that kind of power to stand a chance. Parabatai had a higher chance of success of surviving, and love was a bond that spurred the connection to be more potent. Then, when the demons were defeated - the big ones that required the dangerous Nephilim to fight them - and there was no more need for such power. Nephilim only caused more destruction than they did peace, trying to contain destructive power meant to fight a losing battle. The practice of wielding that power died out as peace began to spread."

"Only parabatai risk awakening it unintentionally, and only through romantic love strong enough to rip them apart. And so the Clave passed the Law against parabatai falling in love, with only the ominous '_parabatai curse_' as an explanation."

"Like children," Merida muttered. "Too afraid to admit the truth, putting up phantoms to scare their people into submission."

"It's _power_. Some would have wisely avoided the bond, but many others would have rushed to take advantage of it for the wrong reasons. Power will always attract the greedy and the weak. And there is also human nature to take into account. Being told that love is forbidden does not kill love. It strengthens it."

Merida sighed. "Reverse psychology is a bitch."

"Nephilim society is what it is thanks to the power that parabatai provide. If the Clave revealed the dangers of it, good people might not become parabatai, while bad people would jump at the opportunity. It's unfortunate, but that's just now it is."

"Isn't that basically the story of _everything_ in life? Not the least of which being the Law."

Jem smiled glancing over at Tessa who was busying herself speaking to the Blackthorns. "Sometimes things don't always go as planned. Sometimes things can't be perfect. Life throws a lot of curveballs your way, and it's up to you to make the best of it all." He didn't see Merida's glum expression.

"If only I could have your optimism."

Merida said her goodbyes and turned away. One of her eyes faded to a shade of lavender, the iris cracking like glass and glowing dimly. In her hand under her cloak, she gripped what appeared to be a golden pocketwatch.

* * *

"Yeah, sure, I can get you some underwater potions," Andraeus said into the phone. "Are you sure you wanna pursue this all on your own though, Tessa?"

"_I'm not on my own - I have Jem. And we don't expect to find anything. The Clave will probably be sending out an official search party once they learn about what happened. We just need to scout the area quickly. We'll be in and out._"

Andy sighed. "Fine. I'm sending over some potions now. Just be careful, Tess."

"_Always_."

Andy tossed his phone on the couch and gathered a few bundles of potions into a carrying package for portals. He set the destination on the portal and then tossed it through.

"You busy?" Laura asked. She poked her head in at the doorway.

"No. Is Veon doing better?"

"He stomached the soup. I explained the story on my end, but he's still having trouble recalling what happened on his end - though we really know enough. We left him to look after Val and the two of them were summoned to Malcolm's aid before we could even realize what was happening."

"Val and Max back yet?"

"They're finishing up. Val got what she needed, and they're just putting up extra wards on Malcolm's place so that no one else can get in and raid it - especially the demons. It's only temporary - they'll let theplace be ransacked by demons or Nephilim, whichever comes first, once they've gotten a proper search."

Andy couldn't help heaving another sigh. He had been doing that a lot, ever since he'd woken up. When dating and subsequently marrying a memory-demon's daughter, you had to expect there would be secrets and one-sided trust at times. But Val had been honest with him over the years. The night at the convergence wasn't the first time he'd been sucked into a memory sphere, and it probably wouldn't be the last. He and his Helian were used to Val's methods, and it was thanks to his former training and his Helian powers that he was able to bring Val back to herself at all.

He hated thinking about the sorrow he felt from her while she had been using his memory sphere to pull herself together. He hated thinking that he'd allowed that to happen, and he was also scared. Val was indeed a powerful warlock. She'd been around longer than the Covenant (the AEGIS Covenant, far older than the Accords) and was more demon than she let on. Memories were the key to even subduing deities - though Val probably would've been less successful if Andy had used his Helian's true form. But his Helian wouldn't have gotten involved in the first place, considering the limitations placed around deities by both the Covenant and fate itself.

Andy heaved another sigh, reorganizing Veon's apartment even more than he already had. Veon was tidy and kept things labeled, but Andy's anxiety was forcing his OCD to the max as he straightened things, stacked things, and propped up things-

"Ooo, they're back! Portal room!" Laura called.

He hurried over to the side room dedicated to Portals as Val and Max hopped through with a couple canvas bags of items.

"As promised." Val reached into one of the bags and pulled out a hefty wooden box. "It was hexed against intruders the last time I tried to get it, but now it's all ours. We also found some other items that might be related to Dearil."

She pulled out a plastic baggie with a few gems, a feather quill, an old worn journal, and a pony-tail of red hair sparkling with magic.

"Useful items, to be sure. But for now, do you have a plan to get Dearil back her memories?"

Val frowned. "Well it's a bit more complicated than that. In order to give Dearil back her memories, I also need to give back the memories of everyone who ever knew her. This sphere is an all or nothing effect. And since it's been so long since these memories were taken, the backlash on all of us - this is a _worldwide_ spell, remember - might be catastrophic if done wrong. Even when it's done right, we risk getting some unwanted attention."

"Can we use some Astral magic or something to…I dunno, dampen the blow?" Maxine asked hopefully.

"I can diminish the effects within the building, perhaps, but we'd need someone stronger to keep the effects from lashing out across the _world_," Laura muttered. "Maybe we could get Ace to, or-"

"Actually that might just be enough," Val said. "This building will be the epicenter of the spell, so nullifying its effects will be the most important. Everyone else who played a significant part in Dearil's life will maybe have a small headache upon her memories returning, but nothing as explosive as this building might become. If you can mitigate the damage here, then everything else should be fine."

"You've got a plan for reversing the memory spell?"

"Of course."

"Well that's great!" Laura exclaimed. "Because guess who just arrived?"

-**_TTOT_**-

"It's not a very fey-like outfit," Veon said. "But she _does_ look beautiful."

"Your standards of unconscious women do concern me," Selina quipped.

"Hey, I'm just speaking a universal truth. Besides, I've got…light memories of Dearil from the madness Malcolm instilled upon me."

Selina had been ready to quip to Veon about his wording, but her face fell at Veon's ending statement. She moved to sit on the side of his bed, reaching out her hand to his forehead. "You should get more rest. Val still needs a little more time for her spell."

"I've had three days of mostly sleeping, Selina. I'm fine."

Even as he said that, his human skin was still pale and even his patches of scales had lost their shimmer. Not to mention the fact that his scales took up most of his skin at that point. Val had explained that Malcolm had made her unleash a half-feral form of Veon's. He had a full transformation, completely scaled and unrecognizable, Val said.

She'd seen how bad Veon could get in that form, and even Malcolm knew that having Val push him into that state would make him uncontrollable even by her - he would lose his mind and basically become all instinct; there'd be nothing for Val to even control. There was a reason that reptiles can't actually be trained; their brains don't have any higher functioning parts beyond the basic survival instincts of wait, attack, eat. But while regular reptiles just kinda lounge around and eat food they can get, only moving when they wanted a temperature change, Veon's feral form would attack everything that came near. He'd been raised in a tunnel system when he'd been a child in feral form, only attacking and eating. As an adult, only Val knew the kind of damage he'd wreak.

"Do you want something else to eat or drink?"

"I'm fine, Selina."

"Okay. It's just when I'm anxious I need to do something. Missions, cleaning, you name it. And I tend to talk a lot about stuff sometimes. It just feels awkward doing nothing."

He released a breathy chuckle. He sounded exhausted. "It's fine. That's how most of us are at times. Andraeus doesn't move things around, but he obsessively straightens everything."

"I'd wager Finn's juggling knives in the other room," Selina realized. "I should check on him."

Dearil was in one of the other guest bedrooms (Veon's apartment had three guest bedrooms, and Selina once again wondered why Veon didn't just live in a mansion like Malcolm had).

Selina noticed that in the living room, Andraeus had lined up a collection of coins on the fireplace mantel and was currently straightening some candles so that they were perfectly symmetrical and the beads wrapped around them were straight. So Andy became a cleaner when he was stressed, eh?

She headed down the hall and to Dearil's room, where Finn and Kieran were watching over her. Kieran was clearly out of place, looking anxious like he wanted nothing more than to get out of here. There was a constant question in his eyes, as though he was asking '_Why am I still here? Why did I even come here in the first place?_' Then he spared a glance at Dearil in the bed and his shoulders slumped in defeat, submitting to his fate that he'd be here a while longer. At least until she woke up. At least until then.

"She's woken up a couple times, but she's hardly been lucid," Finn explained.

"Getting the memories ripped out of her so forcefully probably hurt her," Selina said.

Dearil's eyes were half open as she lay on the guest bed, wrapped in her Centurion cloak. "_Aon. Dhà. Trì. Ceithir. Còig. Sia. Seachd. Ochd. Naoi._"

"She's counting?"

"In my youth, Fionn would count to me in order to aid in my focus and tame my emotions," Kieran explained. "Our mother did such for him as a child in turn."

"_Naoi. Ochd. Seachd. Sia. Còig. Ceithir. Trì. Dhà. Aon._"

"Val's almost ready to perform the spell."

"Max says that Dearil's in a state of limbo at the moment. Kinda like her mind has been paused and it just needs a small jolt to start her up again. Like a defibrillator, but for her mental state. Like you said, Malcolm ripped away her memories so forcefully that she's kinda just…frozen from the shock."

"But she'll be _fine_. She'll be up by tomorrow, or so Val says. Well, the spell will be done. How well she'll be will depend."

He nodded. He glanced down at her. Her head was exposed, as well as her lower calves and below - which were bare of any shoes or socks. She had wrapped her long Centurion cloak around her tightly in her sleep. "She's so small…" he muttered.

"Well she transformed into Fionn, what? Twenty years ago? When Kieran was a baby?"

Kieran nodded in confirmation, but he seemed too tired to speak up.

"Maybe she's just younger."

"Maybe," Finn agreed.

He didn't know how to describe it, but he had this weird urge to wrap her in his arms and hug her. It was like staring at a cute stuffed animal that you just wanted to squeeze impulsively. But that would be really weird. And possibly pedophilic if she were now underage.

Selina seemed to recognize what he was feeling (stupid parabatai) and raised an eyebrow at him, but she didn't say a word.

"Okay!" Val called from the hall. "We're ready to go!"

Finn cleared his throat and stood. "Let's go help get set up."

"Right."

-**_TTOT_**-

"It looks like water."

"It basically is. But with a little more kick to it. Don't drink it, by the way - you might dissolve your…everything."

Val set the large memory sphere, swirling with silver-white iridescent energy, at the center of a large bowl of what appeared to be water. The moment the sphere touched it, Val ran her hand along the rim and muttered some Latin words, and the 'water' became opaque like some kind of liquid metal.

"Okay, not water," Finn confirmed.

They were all gathered in Dearil's guest room, even Veon. It was a spacious room, so there was plenty of room, and yet the attention felt oppressive. No eyes were on him, but Finn felt claustrophobic.

"Andy?" Val prompted.

She and her husband stood on either side of the bowl and hovered their hands above it. The liquid metal within began to tremble as their hands started to glow. The energy sphere began to react, pulsing with colorful light as the wisps of energy within started swirling around violently.

"Laura? Max?"

Max held her hands up and the air within the room seemed to freeze. Laura took a deep breath and began to sing a hymn that rippled through the air like waves. It was a calming melody, and the light within the sphere began to glow brighter. The metallic water began to swirl around it, forming a mini-water spout. Pulling their hands in, Val and Andy forced the metallic water to surround and descend, condensing around the memory sphere and then absorbing _into_ it. The sphere rippled like a living creature - or many living creatures - were trying to escape.

"Okay, brace yourselves!"

Val and Andy threw their arms up and outwards and the sphere exploded. The metallic water illuminated with a blinding light and began expanding in all directions. Finn put his hands up instinctively and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the wave of water ripple past him. He sucked in a deep breath - like one of those dreams where he was underwater but he realized he could still breathe properly.

_Finn peeked his head through the Sanctuary doors and saw his mother and the Head speaking to someone. It was a warlock and a Seelie. Finn had never seen them before in real life. He could hardly tell which is which. Both were beautiful, one with sparkling scales lining his skin and the other with shimmering dark maroon hair that seemed to flow like a waterfall of lava. He could only tell that the scaled one was a man by his height and assertive, formal stance, but the other one was more ambiguous and almost hiding behind the man_.

_Finn slipped into the Sanctuary and met with the fiery-haired girl alone. She sat on the tile floor, barefoot with only a matching red dress that swept down to her knees. Her eyes were bright like rubies as she scanned him curiously. She had never seen a human child before, she said, and this was her first time meeting Nephilim_.

_Finn snuck into the Sanctuary, night after night, bringing a sandwich for her sometimes. They spent hours talking. Friends. Yes, she was a good friend. He'd never had a friend that was a Downworlder. She'd never had a friend before, period_.

_He snuck her into the Institute, giving her permission to pass onto the protected grounds. She needed to speak to his mom or she'd never be able to leave the Sanctuary. She took a vow, she said. He didn't want her to go, but he wanted to help his friend_.

_What happened?_

_Yes, he had helped her, she said. He was glad. Will you still be my friend? Will you come back? Sure. If I can, she said_.

Finn sucked in a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been deprived of. He opened his eyes and looked around frantically, trying to remember where he was.

A room. A bedroom? Veon's place. They'd tried to restore her memories. Did it work?

"Did it work?" Selina asked, reading his mind.

Kieran shrugged. He was sitting on the chair he had been before at the bedside, completely unmoved and staring down at his sister. "I've no memories to restore of Dearil."

Laura was kneeling on the carpet by what Finn realized was Veon. "He has a lot of memories from Dearil, and with Malcolm interfering, his gears have kinda been jolted back into position. He's fine, just processing it all."

Veon held his head, but he didn't seem unconscious. Selina helped him lay on a loveseat to rest while Max and Andy cleaned up the tray of ingredients and the bowl of the weird liquid metal and left the room to dispose of it safely.

"Andy adjusted quickly because one, he's a Helian, and two, he's married to _me_," Val explained. "He has his own memories of Dearil."

Finn went to the bed and studied Dearil. She had stopped muttering in her sleep, and she had closed her eyes, relaxed.

"She'll be up soon," Val assured him. "Try not to scare her, all right? Remember, she doesn't know you two."

Veon shook his head. "But she knows _me_. In fact, she was my ward - I was responsible for her for _years_." He smiled fondly. "She's a fiery one, that's for sure. But she bloomed into a beautiful woman." His face fell, slowly. "Then…then she left. And I lost even my memories of her…"

Selina gripped his hand with hers. "I'm sorry. I know it was painful."

Veon's eyes were unfocused. He seemed to be gazing somewhere far beyond - out to the sea, down into the depths where Malcolm Fade had been killed and sucked to the bottom. "A part of me understands Malcolm, having his loved one ripped away so terribly. The other part of me…" Two layers of eyelids blinked across his gaze, the first horizontal, and the second the normal vertical. "The other part of me wants to dive into that ocean, revive him just so that I can kill him again for taking her away from me."

Selina scooted beside him on the loveseat. "You really cared about her, didn't you?"

"I loved her like family. I wanted to stay with her forever…"

"Mmm…" Dearil grunted. Her brow pinched and her eyelids fluttered, as though she was straining to wake up.

"Dearil?"

-**_TTOT_**-

_Dearil was standing in a ring of fire._

_The dark fire crackled around her. Before her stood a child who was definitely not a child. Its smile was so sinister, full of mirth at Dearil's desperation._

_"Is that your wish?"_

_The fire swirled around her. Dearil had never been afraid of fire, and yet still she cowered in fear._

_"What are you willing to give?"_

_Dearil couldn't hear her own voice, but she knew she was shouting. She knew she was crying. She knew she was desperate and she had so little to bargain with and also that she couldn't go back now even if she wanted to. She'd gone into this knowing how futile it could be, but she didn't care. She was begging and no longer worried about her words and how regal or confident she spoke. She would give whatever it took, if only she was given the chance. For her mother's smile, for her brother's life._

_"Then we have a deal."_

_The fire closed in, and Dearil was wracked with pain. Her entire body was consumed, and she thought to herself that this was what it meant to burn. She felt like all the bones in her body were breaking, that her very skin was being ripped apart and sewn back on, that her muscles were tearing and rebuilding._

_'_**I'm going to die,**_' she thought to herself_.

Dearil's eyes snapped open and she was blinded by light.

Her body was throbbing, but it was quickly fading with her drowsiness. It was just phantom pains. Just a dream. A really painful dream. A really realistic, painful dream.

She felt warmth surrounding her - not heal like fire, but a warm blanket. No, a cloak. Her feet were exposed, but that's mostly because she was bunching up the cloak in her arms. Her vision was blurry as she tried to blink away the sleep.

The first thing she saw was a beautiful shade of orange. She'd never seen it before, not on a living being. As her vision focused, she saw shimmering afterimages of shapes she had studied before. A black mark peeked out from beneath the collar. Where had she seen it before? The word was just on the top of her tongue.

"Angel…"

She reached up to touch it. She had probably died, hadn't she? As her eyes cleared, she saw little dots covering pale skin. It was foreign, it was beautiful.

Warm. Living. Her fingers touched living flesh, though it was rougher than smooth faerie skin that she was used to. Rough, calloused hands touched hers as she cupped their face. She'd never felt someone with calloused hands before.

He was talking to her. His voice was rough, like the rest of him. It was definitely a he. His voice was so beautiful. Could she hear him? Yes…? Could she understand? No…no it was just syllables. Another language? She wasn't conscious enough to see if she could translate. She could just barely make out her name on his tongue, and it was so nice. She hated that name normally, but she'd never heard it in such a…different voice, rough but trying to be so gentle.

"Dearil…?"

She saw something else.

Blue. Calming waves. Dearil exhaled. Her mother's scent, mixed with the wildness of freedom.

Her mother?

No…if Dearil was dead, her mother…!

She flinched and forced herself to move. Arms, legs, head, torso. She still had her body.

She sat up quickly and began to pat herself down. Her vision was clearing, and she wiped her eyes just for good measure. Her hands were the same, so were her feet. She held her hand to her chest, which remained feminine as ever - though her chest was bound by something underneath her garments.

Speaking of her garments, she was wearing a dress, but it didn't feel like anything she'd ever worn before. The cloak around her was smooth and warm yet durable, and though it worked well as a sleeping blanket, it clearly wasn't designed to be that way.

"_Where…?_"

Her throat was scratchy and dry and it pained her as she choked out a single word.

The angel at her side turned away and when he returned he held a clear container of water. Dearil took it without pausing and drank. Though water could burn her if it were too cold, her mouth could usually tolerate water - which was good because she needed to drink it in order to survive. By the time it reached her throat, her internal body temperature had usually risen enough to prevent it from bothering her.

Her body cried out in relief at the fluid, but she quickly felt sick from swallowing too quickly. Not wanting to spit it out, she held it in her mouth and swallowed it bit by bit.

The angel was talking to her again, and this time she started to make out words. She knew his language, she was sure, and she tried to translate a few words.

'_Ideal._'  
'_Water._'  
'_Food?_'

The last one was definitely a question.

Her stomach was growling in protest. She was clearly so hungry that no food sounded like it would stay down.

How long had she been unconscious? Where was she? Who was this angel?

"Where hast thine clan upon this domain hath taken mine?"

Based on the confused reactions, she had probably said that wrong.

"You're safe," the same Shadowhunter from before said. "Do you know who I am?"

"Nary a glance."

The disappointment in his eyes was blatantly on display, though he didn't seem surprised.

"Dearil, you are safe. You crave sustenance, yes? Do you feel any pain?"

Blue. The voice was definitely smoother, smooth as a fey's voice - and in her native tongue, no less. The faerie had bi-colored eyes that she had only seen very few times: the eyes of a faerie under Gwyn ap Nudd of the Wild Hunt. Upon closer inspection, she saw it was a male. _Not her mother_.

She sighed with relief, but then she remembered what had happened before she had passed out.

_Her father's ultimatum, her desperation, her flight, the warlock, the fiery circle, the demon deal_.

"How long hast mine sleep been upon me?!" she demanded.

"Easy." The angel took her wrists and held them together, easing them into her lap. He had a heavy accent, akin to his language.

She tried to recall the human language he used. She could speak it, she _could_. Just calm down and focus. _Aon. Dhà. Trì. Ceithir. Còig. Sia. Seachd. Ochd. Naoi._ _Naoi. Ochd. Seachd. Sia. Còig. Ceithir. Trì. Dhà. Aon_. She focused on the proper dialect and took a deep breath before she spoke again.

"How long? What time has passed as I slept?"

"You've been out for a few days."

Out? Ugh, dialects! Humans had so many odd vernaculars.

_Aon. Dhà. Trì. Ceithir. Còig. Sia. Seachd. Ochd. Naoi_.

He says the word 'days.' _Days_. Definitely plural. That was too long!

Dearil pushed away the angel (his skin was so different than hers; she felt an urge to run her hand along the rough surface just to feel it in full) and moved her feet underneath her. She was in a bed. Good, she knew what a bed was. She swung her legs over the edge and then pushed herself to her feet.

She was surprised to know her legs seemed to be rebelling against her as she collapsed to soft grass below. Human grass? _Inside a building_. It was so odd!

"Hey, hey! Woah, okay, slow down. You haven't eaten or drank anything in a while and your muscles might be atrophied!" She was hauled up by strong arms and plopped back onto the soft human bed. Did she mention that the human bed was _soft?_

There was a part of Dearil that wanted to lie back down and fall asleep, but she let adrenaline push her onwards. "You must let me depart! I have dallied too long! My father must not know I fled the kingdom! My family will suffer reprisal for my actions! Please you must let me depart!"

Dearil fought to pass the angel, but he was too strong. She recognized words about muscles (strength) and atrophy (decay). She admittedly felt extremely weak - not to mention her stomach was crying out in protest.

"Hyuck!"

She clapped a hand over her mouth as her stomach contracted suddenly, forcing a noise out of her mouth.

The angel placed his hand over his mouth, but there didn't seem to be horror in his eyes as if Dearil had shown evidence of something terrible…

"By the Angel, that was _adorable_," he muttered quickly and quietly so that Dearil had to take extra time to translate.

"Finn! Don't laugh at her hiccups!" Another angel, this time a woman with pale hair descended on Dearil. "Okay, little one, please calm yourself." She spoke slowly, allowing Dearil to translate her words. "You are in no danger. You need food before you will go anywhere. You drank water very quickly, so you will hiccup for some time. It's not dangerous. You must relax."

"Hyuck!" Dearil tried to hold it down. She _did_. But her stomach clench was more powerful than her determination, it seemed.

The first fiery angel with the dots on his skin began to laugh. And not in a menacing way, enjoying her suffering. He seemed genuinely pleased. The second angel frowned and pushed the first one over off the bed and to the floor with a thud. Good for him! He deserved it!

"I'm sorry about my parabatai." Dearil had heard that word before, in her studies of Nephilim and Shadowhunters. That was a bonded Nephilim, yes? She was right to call them angels. "Call me Selina. You may call _him_ Finnegan or Finn. We wish to help. What is it that you are so panicked about?"

Dearil took a deep breath (which was promptly interrupted by another hiccup). Her entire body was trembling from fatigue. Her rush of adrenaline wouldn't be able to keep her going much longer. "I must return to the Unseelie Court. My excursion was not granted permission, and should my father learn of my departure he will have my mother executed! Please, you must let me depart!"

The second angel took her wrists as she tried to move, just like the first one had. "You are in no condition to be traveling."

Dearil squirmed to get free, but the female angel's grip was as tight as the others' had been. "Please, my mother is with child! Not one but two lives may perish should I fail to return!"

"Your mother is dead." The faerie of the Wild Hunt. A creature who could speak no untruths. Dearil felt her entire body seize at his words.

No…no, after all Dearil had been through, her mother couldn't be _gone_ just like that! But Dearil had grown up in a world where there was no such thing as untruths. Even if she was surrounded by outsider angels, angels who could lie, it was a faerie who spoke the words. What had she last said to her mother? Her mother didn't even know she had left the Court! Her smile…her laughter…her love…Dearil had let it fade. It was her fault. She came out here, defied her father, took that risk…and now her mother was dead.

While her mind told her it was true, her body resisted. Pain flared in her core, her muscles tightened, her breath hitched (or maybe that was just the hiccups). She couldn't breathe. Why wouldn't her lungs work? She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, but her voice wouldn't escape. Her entire body hurt. It hurt. '_Help me_,' she wanted to say. '_Make the nightmare stop_.'

"Dearil? Dearil, hey, stay with me!"

His hands were gripping hers, the angel's. He pulled her trembling body close to his, and Dearil felt warmth. Her skin felt cold against his - odd, considering her body temperature was always far beyond her peers. She felt him hold her tight as her body trembled and seized, pressed against his chest.

"Kieran! You can't just say that while she's in such a delicate state!"

Kieran, the faerie of bi-colored eyes, did not look chastised. "It is a truth she must confront. She seemed eager to flee to her demise had she not been informed." Even so, there was guilt hidden deep within his mismatched eyes.

She couldn't close her eyes, but she could see the little dots on his arm among the faded runes of the Angel. _Aon. Dhà. Trì. Ceithir. Còig. Sia. Seachd. Ochd. Naoi_. He had so many. Dearil tried to focus on counting them all.

"_Aon. Dhà. Trì. Ceithir. Còig. Sia. Seachd. Ochd. Naoi_." Finn hoped he'd pronounced the words right. He could sing random notes, but pronouncing Faerie language wasn't easy. Fionn had given him mini-lessons on some basic words, but the syllables were difficult to stick in his brain, let alone pronounce. He just didn't have enough experience.

But he felt Dearil tighten her grip around him, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. Her hiccups merged with the shaking of her entire body, and like the tremors, she was doing her best to suppress them forcefully.

He held her and sung like her mother had. She did not have the time to question where he had learned to sing to her like that, how he knew it would help. He had a pretty voice - for an angel.

Finn gently stroked her hair and gave her plenty of time to slowly compose herself. He knew that it wasn't easy, that it was both mentally and physically exhausting to pull back from a panic attack. He'd had his own fair share of them when he was little, and it was his mother who had helped him manage it as a child. Once she was gone, it had been Merida and Selina, and then his Downworlder friends. It had been a long time with a large group of support that helped him over the years. Finn wondered how many people Dearil had ever had in her life to help her.

It took a great deal of time for her trembling to stop. She seemed more upset with herself than anyone else was. She tried speaking, but nothing came out but a whimper.

"Shh, don't speak if it hurts to. Take all the time you need."

Veon and Val were giving frantic hand signs in the background, and though Finn didn't know mundane sign language, he was pretty sure the sarcastic eye roll meant their erratic waving wasn't any official language and they were having a few miscommunications. The two warlocks gave a 'Be right back' and they rushed away.

By the time Dearil finally seemed stable (and Finn didn't think that she was, but she persisted), Veon had returned with some food on a tray and a stuffed bear about a foot tall with a rainbow scarf wrapped around its neck and hanging the full height of the bear.

"I brought comfort things~!" he announced.

Selina gave him a face and he shrugged, setting the tray down on the nightstand and the bear on the bed behind Dearil.

"The child," Dearil urged. "What of her newborn? What of my brother?!"

"Your brother lives, Dearil," the second angel - the one named after the moon goddess - assured her. "I promise you, I speak the truth. Your mother's son is safe from the Unseelie King at present. You needn't rush away from here to be at his side. Now, you must rest further. He will live as you eat, and he will still live when you wake."

"It is as she says," Kieran affirmed. "Eat if you are able."

She glanced down and noticed Kieran's battered white gauntlets. She dropped her head, letting her hair fall into her face. "Yes sir," she said lightly.

Selina helped Dearil sit back, adjusting the pillows to help her sit up, and then Veon eased the tray (built for breakfast-in-bed situations, it seemed) onto her lap.

"Hello, little gem," he said carefully.

Ruby eyes rose up Veon's scaled arm and to his face. "Warlock," she realized, calling him by his old code name that seemed so far in the past now.

"A lot has happened, young Faerie. I will explain, but first you must try to eat. For now, you are safe - as is your brother."

Dearil nodded. Her hand was shaky as she reached for the spoon. Veon reached out and wrapped his hand around hers, his scales flickering at the touch of her skin. He took the utensil from her and dipped it into the thick stew he made.

"I brewed this up specifically to help with your condition. Tell me if it tastes bad or doesn't wanna go down."

She nodded and allowed him to feed her. She looked strained as she swallowed, but she accepted another spoonful, and then another. Slowly, the color started to return to her face and the unconscious shaking in her tense muscles began to relax.

"Please tell me what has happened," Dearil urged.

"First tell me what you remember."

"I ran from the Unseelie Court in light of my father's ultimatum. I asked of you, Warlock, to do what I cannot - give me a body that would be stronger, strong enough to tame an Astral."

"An Astral?" Selina repeated.

Dearil nodded lightly. "A steed of the sky. Powerful enough to frighten even my father; for me to tame it would be the proof I need of my worth. But my father's ultimatum stipulated that should I attempt to flee, my mother would suffer in my place. He may yet interpret my coming to you, Warlock, as my choice to escape."

"You mean Zoltan, don't you? Your plan was to tame him, but you needed a male body?"

She nodded. "I…I've been helpless as I am. Of all the children of my father's court, I am one of very few daughters allowed to live. I do not know the reason, even with my father's open displeasure. His sons are strong, and I am not. His sons are accepted and respected, and I am not. I am trapped within a form I cannot accept any longer. Not when I must be the one to protect my mother's youngest child. The Astral raged against the Court, but I was drawn to it. With one of my brothers at my side, I confronted it." She held up her hand, her tremor slowly receding. She clenched it into a steady fist. "I could _tame_ it, I realized. I can tame a god, maybe even more. If my father cannot find worth in that, then let him kill me, let me perish. Let that steed raze his lands and take from him the sons he values so greatly."

Lightning struck and thunder boomed outside; rain began pouring down, as if reacting to Dearil's words. Zoltan had gone to Dearil when she was in distress. No matter how prissy and rude the horse was, he cared enough about her to break the rules and aid her.

"You could tame him even as you are now," Veon promised. "Did you even try?"

"My father sent his forces to confront the beast. I could not get close enough - I could hardly leave my own room without confrontation. Though I managed to make my way to this world, find a warlock such as yourself, I was in no position to join the battlefield."

"So do you remember the demon deal?"

Dearil tangled her fingers together, feeling fidgety. Her head hurt just thinking about it, but she remembered the fire, her fear, her desperation, and then the exploding pain, believing she was going to die. She carefully explained, trying not to focus too hard and relapse. The last thing she needed was to embarrass herself further.

"And that's it?" Veon asked.

Dearil nodded. "I've awoken with no change upon my person. I have failed. Yet I wake in the presence of angels, demons, and even one of my father's Court. May I ask how long I have been asleep and what has transpired in the meantime?"

"A lot has happened, little gem. It is a very long story."

"Then I pray you speak with haste. My mother has perished in my time of slumber; I wish to know what other tragedies that might have befallen me. I wish to return to the Court for my younger brother and hope to evade my father's ire."

"Your brother's not in the Unseelie Court," the angel Finnegan told her.

"So my father's mercy extends the life of his youngest son, but not his presence. Banished was he? A mere child-?"

"He's not a child, anymore, Dearil," Warlock told her. "As I said, it's a long story. He's grown up; he was sent to the Wild Hunt…"

Dearil glanced over at Kieran. She knew the signs of those who were under Gwyn ap Nudd's protection and served in his Hunt. Bi-colored eyes, split by Gwyn's very blood. Donning gauntlets as a prince of the Unseelie Court and yet Dearil had no idea who he was. She knew the faces of all her brothers. There was a possibility he had stolen them, but…

The dark-haired faerie stood from his position across the room. Selina moved to let him sit opposite of the warlock on her bed. One eye was black as night, the other a shimmering silver. His hair held a sheen of blue-green among the black, which seemed to sway like the waters of the ocean. Dearil reached out and gently cupped his chin, running her fingers along his jawline. She could see her mother in him, the gentle calm that always comforted her in her darkest hours.

"Hello, Dearil Kingsdöttær. I am Kieran Kingson of the Wild Hunt."

"Hello, my little dark one. Though I suppose you are not so little anymore."

* * *

**Chapter title: '_Bad Dream_' by Ruelle**


	24. Am I So Insignificant?

Kieran, who had once looked so eager to leave, now stared down at his sister with new resolve. He knew nothing of Dearil, and before they had met, he had reason to not care for her - especially knowing that Fionn had killed his mother, leaving only Dearil behind before Kieran could even confront him.

But now, Kieran moved the tray of soup off to the nightstand and helped tuck her into bed as she succumbed to her exhaustion combined with her full stomach. She ended up using Veon's stuffed bear that he'd brought as a pillow and was quickly out like a light. Kieran watched over her as though she had now become something precious.

"Val says that the memory restoration did _work_, but Dearil is still unstable herself," Veon explained. "Remember, this is a very violent and sudden return of memories forcefully extracted and held hostage for many years. For the rest of us, Dearil's parts of our memory won't be nearly as tough to cope with as her needing to regain her entire life - _years_ of it."

"Will you attempt to restore Fionn soon?" Kieran asked.

"I wouldn't risk it until Dearil is fully restored," Val interjected.

"Do you even have a plan for how to do so?"

She rubbed the back of her head, running her fingers through her dark hair. "On paper? It's simple. Fionn's knife is built specifically to be attached to his soul, attracted like a powerful magnet. Just boosting the power of the knife should be enough to capture all of the released energy of his memory sphere. Depending on how far and wide it's dispersed, it could take time and be very violent, but it's entirely possible with that rule-bending blade."

"_But_ that's assuming he hasn't been considered dead," Andraeus interjected. "If that's the case, it will be considered necromancy and a violation of the death gods and psychopomps to capture his soul."

Val rolled her eyes and leaned against her husband's arm. "_But_ the blade is where he made a contract to end up after death, meaning that it's totally viable to help get him _in_ there. In fact, it'd cause the death gods _more_ trouble if they tried to violate that contract. The _real_ problem comes from getting him _out_ of the weapon. That's something only Dearil can do, unfortunately. Only she can connect with Fionn's soul and go into the weapon. After that, she has to bargain her way to Fionn's freedom."

"Bargain?" Finn repeated.

"Don't you wonder why Fionn's blade ended up cursed to harbor his soul after death? There are all kinds of homicides happening in this world, but not just everyone gets cursed like that. Matricide is a crime, don't get me wrong, but what happened to Fionn is unique and deliberate. I don't know if it's he himself who _wanted_ this to happen, or if he made a deal, or whatever, but only _he_ can stand a chance at finding a way to freedom."

"We cannot stay here," Kieran announced. "We've not the time Dearil deserves to recover."

He glanced down at her again, as though he was afraid she would disappear from beneath the covers of Veon's bed at any moment. Only her head was visible from underneath the duvet, her hair pulsing with the glow of lava with each shallow breath. She was snuggled up against Veon's stuffed bear, gripping it with one arm and resting her cheek on its rainbow scarf.

"It was once hers," Veon explained. "Back when she lived with me, I mean. I remember it now. There are a lot of traces of her presence in my apartment that I just…forgot about."

Now that he looked, Finn noticed that the bear was certainly old, but well-preserved.

"When I asked her what her favorite color was, she couldn't make up her mind. So I bought her a scarf that was all the colors and she instantly fell in love. She hadn't really been given gifts before, so she treasured that bear and gave him the scarf. Though not after she wore it for months on end. And sometimes she'd take the scarf back; they shared. She named it Oatmeal because that's what it said on the label."

"Isn't that just the color of the bear?" Selina asked. "Ya know, mundanes name things like that. '_Peach_,' '_Chocolate_,' '_Lasagna_.'"

"When have you seen something colored '_Lasagna?_'" Finn questioned. "What even _is_ the color of lasagna?"

"Well she wasn't good at naming things - but personally, I think Oatmeal was an _adorable_ name," Veon argued.

"How long were you two together? And why? I'm not sure I understand the timeline of events here with all this memory-erasure nonsense."

"I worked for the Unseelie King for a few favors, back in the day," Veon explained. "He didn't like me much, I didn't like _him_ much, but we had few interactions, and when we did, it was all just business. Well one day he called me in needing me to locate a certain person: the Oracle of the gods. The reason he called _me_ in was because I knew the former Oracle and had the means to locate the next. There, I met Dearil and heard her story. I was going to ask for something small from the Unseelie King - I didn't really need anything from him at the moment - but upon seeing how she was treated…I changed my mind. The bargain was, if I remember correctly, that I'd find the Oracle and tell them of the Unseelie King's plight. In return, I would take Dearil from the Court - for a temporary amount of time, the King made clear."

"Why'd they need this…Oracle?" Finn asked.

"There was an Astral ravaging the Unseelie King's lands - Zoltan."

"Once again," Selina muttered. "So Zoltan went to Dearil back then and made the King so desperate for aid that he allowed you to take Dearil away from the home that made her miserable."

"Miserable?" Kieran repeated.

"Can't you see it? Dearil is _terrified_ of her father - the man threatened her life or that of her family. And yet she would go back to him because she has no other options; she cannot fathom a life outside of the Court. She is mentally unstable, and before she knew you were her mother's son, she called you 'Sir.' She is conditioned to treat her brothers as her superiors. How was Fionn treated back in the Court?"

"He…he conflicted with many of our brothers. A great deal of them would happily see me perish as well."

"The Unseelie King hates daughters - he has most killed at birth. The only reason he left Dearil alive is because she has the blessings of Phoenix and the King's lands were suffering because of the fallout of the Ifrit War. He left her alive because he had no choice."

"She was raised all her life - until I found her - in the Unseelie Tower," Veon said. "For those of you who don't know, the Unseelie Tower is basically a heavily fortified prison. But she _lived_ there. She was hidden from the rest of the world, protected perhaps, but isolated."

"Fionn mentioned something when I shook information about Dearil out of him," Selina recalled. "She had never seen the sky, the clouds, the sun, the moon, or the stars for over a decade."

"She was afraid of it at first. She said it was like a vast ocean that could swallow her up. She had nightmares about falling into the sky. But she fell in love with the stars that she had researched back in the Court. Being stuck within a tower all her life, she'd done nothing but study. She was very intelligent. She went out at night and tried to identify stars, saying they were so much more beautiful than the written scriptures could ever portray."

"So you made a bargain to find the Oracle and took Dearil to the human world, showed her freedom," Finn summarized.

"He had to find your mother, Finn," Selina said.

"My…_mom?_"

"She was the next Oracle."

"I gave her a trinket that the former Oracle told me to pass on to his successor," Veon explained. "It unlocked her true nature or whatever, and she freaked out. Dearil made a promise that she would speak to Ellesmira about the Astral problem and find a way to save her kingdom. She stayed in the Sanctuary of your Institute for days, waiting for the opportunity to speak with the Oracle. She finally got the son of the Oracle to let her inside and she learned that apparently _she_ was the key to stopping Zoltan's attack."

"That was…_me?_" Finn realized. "But I don't…"

"You were _really_ little at the time. Even with all memories of Dearil being taken away, it's unlikely that you'd naturally have remembered back then. You were a cute little bugger though. You and your sister."

Finn thought back to the few blurry memories he had when Val had done her spell on the memory sphere. He shook his head. "So…is that related to what happened to my mom? She was going to leave my dad, she was going to leave _us_. I thought it was because she…I mean, Merida too…we thought she'd left us for Downworlders and…Merida suspected an affair…I just knew she abandoned us. She _changed_ one day and then she was just…gone."

"She left because of Oracle duties, as far as I'm aware," Selina said. "She realized about your dad…"

"My dad?"

"He's a witch. Evil, very bad, probably gave the Scourge to Phoenix. They possess people, and he was probably going after your mom since she was the next Oracle…"

"But he failed," Andy jumped in. "We should make a note to investigate him…"

Finn wasn't that close to his father, he'd _hated_ his father for a long time for making his life miserable. He should be surprised at what Selina was saying about his parents, but he was having enough revelations; he didn't really put up a fight and just had to accept it.

"But back to the important story," Veon interjected. "Dearil found out from Ellesmira that _she_ could stop the Astral horse, and I went to the King to make another bargain. Depending on how fast we could stop Zoltan, the longer that Dearil would be in my care. We ended up taming him within a day of finding him, and so Dearil got a whole _decade_ extra with me! You should've seen what she became over those years, finally able to accept and love herself. She met Gwyn of the Wild Hunt and apparently convinced him to give her training as a fighter, along with taking an artifact that Gwyn had uncovered and managing to get it to work."

"His Io," Selina realized. "Gwyn must've uncovered it during his travels. Probably took is like any other spoils he reaped from the dead but had yet to try and give it away to the Courts or some eager client."

Veon nodded. "Zoltan took her to the Wild Hunt and she nearly _died_-" He scowled, glancing at the window as though the horse could see him scolding it "-but the Io ended up…I don't know, magnetizing to her and then sticking to her, _merging_ with her. It saved her life. She's always wanted to learn how to fight, but her brothers would never allow her to - through peer pressure at the very least, outright hurting her as a threat at the very worst. Gwyn decided that taming the Io piqued his curiosity enough that he agreed to help her. On top of that, his hounds seemed to like her, and she managed to tame them very quickly too."

"Aurum and Argentum," Kieran realized.

"Dearil seemed to have a really good life," Val said.

Veon nodded. "She became a strong, independent - if a bit vulgar - woman. I gave her freedom she'd never known before. At first, she was scared, but with enough time she came out of her shell, and she did so in force. I think she made a secret personal vow to become everything that faeries hate - that her _brothers_, that her _father_ would hate. Faeries aren't afraid to speak the cold, hard truth, but Dearil just said whatever came into her mind at any given time, no matter how rude it was."

Veon glanced into the room where Dearil was sleeping soundly on the bed.

"She became powerful, expressive, and hyperactive. I realized, too late, that I had let her become what she hated. I didn't help her cope with her pain - I just helped her reject it and ignore it rather than confronting it. Worse, I probably contributed to it by imposing my personality onto her." Veon heaved a heavy sigh and slumped with his normal dramatic flare. "I…am a _terrible_ father figure! I'm not a healthy person someone should be emulating! I'm a train wreck on legs with flashy scales! Magnus should keep his son away from me at all costs!"

Selina pat his shoulder. "There, there, you're _fine_, Veon."

"Minus the whole '_monstrous-lizard-creature-barely-holding-it-together_' you mean," Andy said.

He gasped and threw his hand to his chest, staggering as though taking a punch to the solar plexus. "You're right! I'll never be the cool uncle Veon! I'm too _much_ for this world!" He swooned dramatically to the carpet.

Val rolled her eyes. "Well at least you're back to normal."

"And I thought _faeries_ were supposed to be the dramatic ones," Finn muttered.

"We _are_," Kieran said simply.

"Well I suppose that fills in a few of the gaps," Selina sighed. "You needed to return Dearil to the Unseelie Court by the terms of your agreement. But if she'd really become so…untamable, I can see why the Unseelie King would request that Malcolm find a way to erase the memory of those years. She'd become such a liability that he had Malcolm even take the memories of everyone _else_ too. I suppose _then_ he made his ultimatum of Dearil to find her Phoenix powers or else, and so she came to you again, by chance or by fate, and became Fionn."

"Zoltan would be immune or extremely resistant to a warlock's memory wipe, the stubborn steed," Val muttered. "Even if he forgot Dearil's time, he would know that someone took his memories by force. He went back on the attack against the Court to help Dearil once more because that was the last thing he was doing before she left with Veon." She chuckled and stared out the window. "Trust that stubborn horse to not let anything stand in his way. I admire his tenacity at times."

"She became Fionn, she tamed Zoltan, and she - er, he - managed to buy more time," Selina concluded.

"If my brother - or sister - was so valuable to our father, I do wonder his motives as to allowing him to accompany me to the Wild Hunt," Kieran said.

"He must've figured out that what Fionn did to himself locked him out of Phoenix's powers and realized that threatening Fionn was only making the situation worse. He needed to find a way to reverse Fionn's demon deal before he could get what he wanted."

"And he only figured out how to do it when Malcolm got into contact with Iarlath and realized that using _me_ he could extract Fionn from Dearil and return her back to her original state," Val finished. "On top of that, he also managed to find Finnegan - the boy who can tame Astrals while remaining human. Malcolm also found the Black Volume of the Dead. The King probably wants _all_ of it, and Malcolm probably _promised_ it all so long as he got his precious Annabel back."

Finnegan sighed. "It's a lot to take in. So she'll eventually start to remember her missing past?"

Val nodded. "The spell worked. Her memories are inside her. But it's kinda like a pendulum. She's gonna swing back and forth until eventually the two personalities will merge into one." Val held up her hand and summoned a pocket watch for emphasis, letting it swing back and forth as though she were trying to hypnotize them into believing her words.

"How long will it take?"

She pulled the pocket watch back into her hand. "Who can say? Far longer than we have if Kieran wishes to stay by her side. Kieran needs to return to the Hunt. Honestly, Gwyn's care might actually be the safest place for her. She can't stay with the Shadowhunters, she's still considered a faerie. She can't - or at least she _shouldn't_ go back to the Unseelie Court considering how the King has treated her and how he now wants her back for a specific reason. She can't stay with us Astrals until she unlocks Phoenix's power and personality. The last thing we need is the other Astrals hunting us down because we broke the law - which we already have, mind you - or because they're hunting Phoenix. Like it or not, being in the Unseelie Tower _did_ hide her from hostile Astrals."

"That's what Brynhildr said when I last talked to her," Selina agreed. "The reason she advocated for the Unseelie King to spare Dearil and protect them was because there aren't a lot of safe havens out there. Besides, she _was_ right in one respect: Phoenix needs to take the Infernian power and bless the Unseelie Court or it's going to get messier and messier."

"It depends on what Dearil wants," Kieran announced. "The Hunt does not accept female members, however Gwyn may still offer her protection even if she does not join our cause. Until she is to regain her memories and gain the agency to decide her own fate. Yet she seems intent on returning to the Unseelie Court."

"Because it's all she knows," Veon sighed. "No matter how terrible her life was, it's familiar. That's how abusive homes can work - she's gripped by fear of the unknown. On top of that…Dearil's got a lot of medical issues that just can't be handled in the Shadow World."

"Medical?" Finn repeated.

He nodded. "Arthur, Tiberius, even Finnegan are just a few examples. You hear of other Shadowhunter children who think or feel differently, who have trouble focusing, who claim letters rearrange themselves on the page when they try to read them, who can never gain a true concept of time, who fall prey to dark sadnesses that seem to have no reason, or fits of energy they can't control. The Clave hates to admit that Nephilim like that exist."

Selina nodded glumly. They were disappeared into the "dregs" portion of the Academy, trained to stay out of the way of other Shadowhunters, sent to far corners of the globe like shameful secrets to be hidden. There were no words to describe Shadowhunters whose minds were shaped differently, no real words to describe differences at all. Because if there were words, there would have to be acknowledgment - and there were things the Clave refused to acknowledge.

"Well those kinds of conditions have reasons, and mundanes treat them properly - or at least better than Shadowhunters. But Dearil has a range of those conditions too."

Val raised an eyebrow. "How many?"

Veon started holding up fingers. "Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder - ADHD, it speaks for itself. Dyslexia - words get jumbled when she tries to read them. Kleptomania - she collects things impulsively, regardless of whether it's useful to her or not. She's a bit of a perfectionist too - though we've been trying to get her to let up on needing everything to be proper. Diabetic/hypoglycemic - her blood sugar levels are often all over the place. Depression - great bouts of sadness where she has trouble being happy. Asburger's syndrome - basically a mild version of what Tiberius has. She has trouble in social situations, understanding how other people's minds work - though that could just be the faerie in her. She's got crippling anxiety no matter how comfortable she acts with others. Oh, and insomnia - it's terribly difficult for her to get to sleep."

"Wow, that's…certainly a lot."

He nodded. "She had to live under the scrutiny of her brothers and father with these untreated medical conditions - which, of course, only made them _worse_. She once tried to take her own life because of her depression. The first time she managed to sneak out of the Unseelie Tower, it was to travel to the tallest trees in the land that she had researched. She climbed to the top and tried to jump." He glanced over at her instinctively, pursing his lips. "That was the first time she met Zoltan - the steed intervened to protect her, after that. It was because of that incident that the horse led an attack on the Unseelie Court and prompted the King to ask me to find the Oracle to reason with the Astral."

"Leading to her being taken to safety," Finn concluded.

"I'm not sure if that's what he had in mind, but it _did_ have an effect."

Val snorted. "That horse doesn't _make_ plans. He charges in, lightning blazing, to hit the problem really hard."

"How do you proceed with curing these…diseases?" Kieran asked hesitantly. He wasn't sure if that was the proper word for it.

"Well first of all, you have to be patient with her. She has trouble concentrating, she needs to be doing something or she gets twitchy - a reason why her brothers used to use her effectively as a servant. She sometimes doesn't understand the meaning of certain slang, but that's probably just a faerie thing. She has trouble reading things like facial expressions and the mood of a room. Once I got her to start opening up, she talked _all_ the time. Her mouth seemed to run faster than her brain could keep up. She exercised and slayed demons because she could never hold still. She had no concept of time, or if she did, she complained about it all the time. She had times where she was unbearably sad and completely ran out of energy, but she always tried to deny it and hide it - she sometimes exhausted herself even _more_ by pretending to be her energetic self as to not burden those who care about her. She loves reading and learning, but only certain things process at a time and she has to go back and re-read a paragraph a dozen times before it processes. She prefers pictures or just being told a story orally. She's studied humans a lot, along with mythology and history. She _loved_ linguistics. She was like all normal faeries in the sense that she can't lie, but if she can get away with saying something in another language, she'll do it. She learned sarcasm. Oh, she was _good_ at sarcasm…"

"Basically, you shouldn't expect anything of her and you need to be patient," Andy summarized. "You have to love her despite her many flaws."

"In either form, she's very self-destructive, you'll learn. It's like dealing with a child, no matter how old she actually is."

"How old _is_ she, anyway?" Finn asked. "I mean, minus all the memory-wiping and such."

"Well chronologically, I think she's around…56? By human standards, she was born around 1956, but accounting for the fluctuations of Faerie-time, she could be younger or older. I first met Dearil when she was 13. After 11 years with her by my side - going in and out of Faerie, mind you - she was 24-25 by her own internal clock. After another year or so after I returned her to the Court and she was wiped, Kieran was born. He's around 20 years old, so Dearil's internal clock should be around 46, but Fionn went in and out of Faerie often to visit me, so we can't say that's an exact number. It depends on where we want to distinguish his age from - Faerie, the human world, or him internally."

"Fionn _did_ mention he was around half a century old," Finn volunteered.

"But right now, after the mind-wipes, I'd say she's got the mental maturity of a teenager. A young one at that."

"Oh god, Finn'll be a pedophile if he woos her now," Selina muttered.

He elbowed her. "We're gonna get _Fionn_ back, remember? And besides, once her memories with Veon process, she'll be around _my_ age - in her mid-twenties."

"Actually, she'll be a little _older_ than you."

"That is assuming we are to bring Fionn back at all," Kieran said.

The Shadowhunters stared at him. "What do you mean?" Finn ventured.

"Fionn was the one to slay our mother. I would presume Dearil would not be fond of him when she learns of this."

Val put her hand to her chin. "Actually, he has a point. We can get Fionn into his dagger easily enough - Kieran might actually be able to manage that on his own with enough determination - but Dearil ultimately has to be the one to seek out Fionn and allow him back into her body so that their souls may merge into one again. When Dearil learns what Fionn did…I doubt that any part of her will be willing to forgive so easily."

"My Dearil, given the epithet 'Lorcan,' told me that her mother was the only reason she managed in the Unseelie Court as long as she did," Veon said. "She contacted her mother almost every day - especially at the beginning. She always told her mother about her day, what she learned, and how she felt. It must've been a daily ritual for her back in the Court. The idea that her mother could be in danger, let alone killed…I don't know how to possibly ease her into the situation, learning her mother's killer and then that she must _save_ him."

Finn felt his chest contract. The idea of never seeing Fionn again after such an abrupt end…he didn't want that to be the end of everything they had. He didn't want Fionn's memories of all their time together to be gone, just like that. He wanted to argue, but he also didn't want to sound selfish.

"In any case, I will ask of her to accompany me to the Wild Hunt to meet with Gwyn. Should her memories return of this…Lorcan Dearil, I will explain the situation once more. It will be her decision as we proceed. I may return to the Hunt and allow her to return to the Unseelie Court if that is truly her heart's desire."

"You'd let her walk back into that abusive prison?" Finn repeated. His blood seemed to boil at Kieran's words despite knowing that Kieran was only saying he'd respect Dearil's wishes. "Even knowing the cruel things the King would do to her for her power? A power that she probably has no idea about?!"

"If she is restored to the one the warlock speaks of - Lorcan, the fierce one - I doubt she will be complacent. Perhaps she will not return to the Court, perhaps she will return here. But that must be her decision. At present, Dearil wishes to return to the Court. I will take her to Gwyn in an effort to change her mind and protect her while she requires protecting."

"We need to think ahead, Finn," Val agreed. "Dearil might end up running from us in the night if we try to hold her here."

"Even as she is, she's a powerful sorcerer, and I don't doubt that regular warlock magic won't be enough to hold her forever," Veon added. "Astral magic might, but again, that'd put us on a not-so-good radar. I'd rather her have an escort back into Faerie - someone who knows the lands. And Gwyn has a better chance at convincing her to stay under his protection than we do. And Dearil might be attached to Kieran - who is still bound to the Wild Hunt. Plus, it's only temporary until she gains her memories as a more mature adult and can choose where she goes on her own. She was a fierce warrior. She'll be able to handle herself once she gets her old self back. Until then, she needs to go somewhere safe."

"Why not here?" He sighed, throwing his arms out in exasperation. "Why can't we just have a safe haven where all of us can be together and be _safe?_"

Selina took her parabatai's hand, smiling sadly. "I know, Finn. I know it's not ideal. But Shadowhunters and warlocks are under the Cold Peace, the Astrals are under the AEGIS Covenant, Phoenix is being hunted down. As Dearil, they won't be able to track Phoenix, but they know who the PR members are - or at least Phoenix/Infernian sympathizers. Our best bet for their safety while we wait is to let Kieran take her, to stay on the down-low until Dearil stabilizes and she decides to bring Fionn back."

Finn wanted to be by Dearil's side. He wanted to get to, know her, to protect her - he wanted to be the one to convince Dearil that Fionn wasn't a bad guy and that he was worth saving and explain his situation.

But he knew everyone was right. He couldn't exactly accompany them into Faerie. Mark barely survived because he was a part of the Wild Hunt and Gwyn made sure he wasn't outright killed. But they'd tortured him, ridiculed him, tried their best to break his spirit if they couldn't break his body. It was only thanks to his own determination, the idea that he would return to his siblings, and having Kieran (a fellow outcast that he had fallen in love with) by his side that he had made it out intact. And that was when Mark was already half-faerie. A pure-blooded Shadowhunter wouldn't stand a chance.

"Fine," he conceded. "You're right. When…you have to leave soon?"

"I will inform Dearil of our plans and ask of her opinion," Kieran said. "We leave as soon as possible. We have dallied a great deal, and I fear soon shall the Hunt seek out me and Mark as deserters. I must tell Gwyn of Mark's decision as well - I said I would do such, and I need not Mark's displeasure at Gwyn's return because I was unable to vouch for his freedom."

"We can prepare supplies for your journey," Veon said. "It took days for Mark to get from the Hunt to the Institute for that deal. You can probably move faster than an entire convoy, but the Hunt might've moved and you may need to travel further."

Kieran nodded and gave his thanks before heading back into Dearil's room to look after her. Val and her husband retired to their room for rest, and Veon said that Laura and Max had done the same.

"Hey, she'll be okay," Selina assured her parabatai.

"I miss him," Finn admitted. "I hate this feeling of emptiness and regret and…and the hopelessness."

"You're still hoping, Finn. I know. You're hoping against all the odds that he'll be back. There _is_ a small chance, but you know that it's small. And it hurts to know how small that chance is because you're gonna keep hoping anyway."

"Do you think that's how _he_ felt when he left? Did he know what would happen?"

"He and Kieran planned to take out Iarlath, make him pay for what he did. I don't think he knew what Malcolm had planned necessarily, but he knew that his father wanted him to return Dearil. He knew he'd become a fugitive, that his father could take him prisoner, but I believe he thought he'd get back to you, no matter what it took."

He frowned. "Selina, I had this dream…after Fionn had knocked me out during the whipping, I mean…"

Selina listened to his words intently. She didn't ask questions, she just let him speak without judgment. He explained Fionn's odd words and his goodbye, as though he had known what would happen.

"Maybe Seline helped pass on a message from Phoenix," she speculated. "He expected to die, but he hoped you would meet in the next life, 'as you always do.' Maybe Fionn actually managed to tap into Phoenix's power at the end! Meaning that Fionn's state isn't completely blocking Phoenix; the PR team might still have a reason to want to bring him back! This could be a good sign, Finn!"

He smiled gently, though to be honest, he didn't actually feel that much energy. "I still miss him," he admitted.

"That's how it goes. But we'll find a way, Finn. Got nothing better to do, eh?"

"Beyond trying not to get sent to the City of Bones for what we did?"

"Oh, I'd never let you get hurt."

He sighed. "You know, there are days I just want to run away and hide from the world. Go somewhere where race, the Law, demons - none of it matters."

"I'm sure there are plenty of us who feel that way. In terms of the Astrals, I know that Seline just wanted to keep out of everything, run away, go somewhere where there weren't anymore politics and wars. She enjoyed staying here with you, ya know. Living life as a Shadowhunter by your side. You saved her from a lot of things, Finnegan. Being with you was like a vacation, running away from the problems of the Astral world. But it'll soon be time to get dragged back in."

"You'll have to leave?"

"Once you learn to handle your Astrals powers, Finn, we'll _both_ have to leave. The gods are gonna drag us into this one way or another."

"Where would we go?"

"There's a place, HQ for the PR. I've never been, but you'd probably be taken there the moment they're able to. It's a safe haven against the Scourge, the demons, the gods. But it's heavily protected in turn. I'm not sure how to get there - it's hidden deep within Faerie. Only PR members have a way to locate it, and even _then_ it seems you have to go to specific locations for portals there."

"Sounds nice."

"I'm told it is. It's a fully functioning city protected from wars and trying to help restore order. But it's also…a bit controlling. A bit fascist. It's the cost of security, I guess. I was never interested; actually I was…probably never gonna be let in."

"Why not?"

"I wasn't a very good Astral back in the day. Before I met you…well…I kinda killed you. A lot. And Phoenix. And others."

"Well, you've reformed yourself pretty well, I'd say. I'll vouch for you. One day, when this all blows over, I'd quite fancy a life of peace - at least for a little while."

Selina sighed, staring out the window into the dark city. Zoltan's storm had begun to pass, but clouds still darkened the sky. "I wonder if Malcolm had something like that planned, running away with Annabel. He said he was going to send a message to the Clave or whatever, but that meant he knew he'd be hunted."

"In the end, no matter how bad his actions were, all _he_ wanted was peace with his loved ones, free from those who had wronged him. The story of that Herondale Shadowhunter - Tobias? He deserted. Maybe _he_ just wanted a life of peace too."

Selina nodded. "The point of fighting is so that we can one day have peace. That's the whole point of wars. Veon once said something about…about Shadowhunters. They're supposed to be guardians, not warriors. They're meant to protect, not just hunt. If only the rest of the world followed that same philosophy."

* * *

Dearil rolled over under the heavy, warm duvet. Her cloak was wrapped around her nicely like a hug, while the duvet was like a protective barrier against the world.

Eventually, Dearil couldn't take it any longer.

She was sleepy, but though her eyes were close and she was comfy, she couldn't fall back asleep. She had more questions for her…new companions. Too many. Her mind wouldn't settle. She carefully pried her eyes open and was greeted with a dark room. Moonlight shone through the window, illuminating a small portion of the large room with beautiful white rays.

Dearil slowly sat up. She realized she'd been hugging a stuffed bear with a scarf on it. There was something appealing about its beady little eyes and nose. She liked it. She held it close and realized the reason that she felt so attracted: it smelled like her. It had a smoky scent.

Dearil decided it would be her companion.

She hugged it close as she pushed the duvet away. She swept her cloak around her and then dangled her legs off the edge of the bed. Her legs weren't broken; she tested her leg muscles and checked if they were still intact. She'd fallen before, but whatever the warlock had brewed her had significantly helped her condition.

She carefully dropped her foot to the soft human grass that appeared to be an inside commodity. It tickled her toes.

Slowly putting pressure on her leg, she managed to hold some of her weight - still leaning on the bed for most of it. She dropped her other leg and then slowly began dropping the rest of her weight onto her feet. It didn't seem too bad. Eventually, she realized she was holding her entire weight on her legs, and balancing properly. She snatched up her new stuffed bear friend and began walking around the bed to the door of the room.

She reached out for the door handle (at least she knew how those worked), but she felt a light spell on the door. It wasn't strong, but she could feel the small ting of warlock magic. It was just to alert the caster if someone opened the door.

Dearil wanted answers, but at the same time she didn't want to speak to anyone.

She was scared of more talking with those people…

Despite how nice they had been to her before, Dearil had only been half-conscious and she had been out of her mind! She'd never met a Nephilim before, and her first experience with one and she had made a fool of herself. Shadowhunters were said to be cunning and cruel as any faerie, but they were even worse because they could lie.

She'd accepted food and water from without thinking of the consequences and had been cursed with those horrible spasms in her chest. She'd fallen on her face and had had one of her attacks where her body shut down.

But the angel had sung so nicely…

She shook her head. No! They were tricksters! They were pretty but they were deceivers!

They _were_ pretty though, especially the boy. He'd had such pretty hair, nothing like her own. She pulled a strand in front of her face. Ugh, it was always so shiny and glowy. She sucked in a deep breath and darkened it like the cooled lava drowning under the ocean waves.

She heaved a sigh and collapsed onto the indoor human soft grass.

She'd made a fool of herself in front of her brother of the Unseelie Court. Her own brother was fully grown, and she'd missed out on it all. She'd been looking forward to helping her mother raise the boy. All of her brothers were older than her, so she'd been excited to be the one to help raise one from infancy. But he was all grown up, and he looked to be an official part of the Court. He was part of the Wild Hunt under Gwyn ap Nudd - who she had only seen in passing when he'd made a rare visit to the Court in person. He sometimes worked as a mercenary for her father, so maybe this brother had been sent to bring her back to the Court. Her brothers and father would learn of the fool she'd made of herself. Not only had she come out on this errand, but she'd failed with her demon deal and failed to save her mother. She'd been unconscious for years. Who _knew_ the amount of trouble she'd be in? Her entire body trembled at the thought.

She hugged her stuffed bear tightly and breathed in its scent. Maybe it'd be taken away by the time she reached home. Hell, maybe the warlock wouldn't allow her to take it from his home.

Warlock…he'd been so kind to her considering how abruptly she'd shown up on his doorstep screaming at him. A part of her wished she could just stay here, hiding with the warlock forever. Her mother was gone, but her brother was here. If only she could keep safe everything she loved in one place. But she'd only be causing trouble for Warlock. Her father might send a force to retrieve her and Warlock could get hurt.

She thought of how beautiful the warlock's scales had been. Dearil was so used to gentry faeries that she found others in the Unseelie Court fascinating. She knew that faeries and warlocks shouldn't get along, but that didn't mean she couldn't admire his lovely scales that glowed like her hair did.

"Uuugh!"

All the creatures in this world were so _pretty!_ How she wished she could just stay and admire them forever. She'd done so much research on the outside world, but it was another thing to see these creatures up close and personally. She wanted to study them, dissect them, get to know how they worked and thought.

But she had no time. She had to return home before it was too late.

'**_I love you_**.'

Dearil looked up and glanced around the room. "Hm?"

'**_I love you_**.'

"Hello?" Dearil squeezed her stuffed bear friend tighter. She couldn't see anyone else in the room…

'**_I love you_**.'

She stood, back against the door. The moonlight illuminated the room enough that she could make out the shapes of the furniture around her. Over near a small couch thing, she saw the blue shimmer of her brother's hair. Creeping closer, she saw that he'd fallen asleep on the soft human grass. He looked slightly uncomfortable. Understandable considering how used to Faerie and sleeping in the wild he should be.

She sat down in front of him. She knew it was wrong to stare at her brother as he slept, but she couldn't help it. She ran her eyes along his sharp, angular features. His hair was haphazardly chopped off as though he'd done so with no reference. His lips, his cheekbones, the curvature of his eyes, his ears…Dearil saw her mother's features within him.

She didn't know why, but she felt jealous. She looked nothing like her mother. She looked like a faerie, sure, a gentry. But it would be easy for an outsider to look at her and see nothing of her mother on her features. Kieran had turned out _right_. He looked like their mother, he was her _son_. She wondered if things would've turned out differently if she had never existed.

'**_I love you_**.'

Dearil jumped and glanced around. Her body was trembling. She was slipping into a panic. She was in an unfamiliar world, she didn't know what to do. She knew she should wake her brother and ask all the questions that flowed through her mind, but at the same time she was afraid of speaking to him - or anyone else, for that matter.

She laid down with her stuffed bear and pulled her traveling cloak around her. Maybe she could pretend to be asleep. Yes, that would ward off an intruder.

She caught a glimpse of Kieran's weapons - a sword that shimmering with the same blue-green gleam as his hair under the moonlight. _The Wild Hunt_. Must be nice. Away from the Court, free to roam the world as he pleased, reaping the dead, riding under the stars…oh how she wished she could do such a thing. But Gwyn's Hunt did not have women in their ranks.

Dearil squeezed her bear again, trying to avoid biting her lip in anger. Being born a woman had made her life a living hell. She had come here in the hopes that she could change that, no matter what the cost. And all she had done was lose her mother and her brother's childhood.

'**_Hello?_**'

Dearil's eyes were drawn to a dark blade on Kieran's belt. Even though he laid under the light of the shimmering moon, the weapon almost seemed in shadow.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was reaching out. Her body flooded with the urge to have his weapons, to be able to defend herself, and to admire the symmetry and sharpness of the blades…

Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dark blade before she could stop herself. It was dark and murky, obsidian with a swirling dark purple haze. She pulled it free of her brother's belt and ran her finger along the flat of the knife, eight inches tall overall and double-edged, about an inch wide. Dearil felt mesmerized, watching the smoky pattern shimmer across the hard surface like a mirage.

A ringing in her ears began to grow louder as she stared at the enchanted weapon. She didn't even notice as it grew so loud that her mind blanked entirely. She passed out.

-**_TTOT_**-

_Dearil was floating in an empty space. Up, down, left, and right - there was only blackness. She felt her heartbeat pulse, and dark splotches of purple erupted from the area around her. The color was piercing with horrible magic, drowning her in despair and hatred. She felt like she couldn't remember what love was, what happiness felt like. She couldn't breathe; she was drowning. She told herself she should scream, but she just couldn't find the energy._

_Every beat of her heart surged through her body and caused the area around her to dance with darkness. Wisps of white clouded the area; her world was mired in fog and pulsing with a dull, throbbing agony._

_She saw him bound by black chains, strung up and pierced by white strings that were strong as wrought iron. They impaled him, burned him, snaked through him and wriggled like living worms. They were sharp as he bled heavily inside and out, but he couldn't pass out, and he couldn't die._

_The wisps of white fog became a whirlwind of voices and a steam that burnt like acid. There were horrors in the darkness, too many to count, too many to fight off. They cried out in rage and hatred, and they sliced him open, pulled him apart. His screams brought life to the dead world, but only because the dull throbbing turned to screeching, white-hot pain. He didn't usually scream, but he had no strength left to hold anything back._

_Dearil reached for him in the haze of pain. She didn't know why, but she needed something from him. The loud, piercing screams covered Dearil, though she didn't know if they were from him or the apparitions. Was she afraid? She didn't know what she was afraid of._

_The humanoid formed from the wisps in front of him. It frowned at him before taking a knife and carving into his exposed torso. He was already heavily injured - he should be dead - but he was still able to scream._

_"Stop…" Dearil wasn't sure if her voice came out. Had she even spoken physically in the first place? Or was her voice merely resonating with the area? Was she speaking as just another spector in the sea of ghosts? "Please stop…"_

_He looked familiar. She couldn't tell if she thought he was handsome and beautiful or if he was so ethereal it was frightening her._

_The ghost didn't seem to notice her, but he did._

Fionn Flann_._

_The name came to her mind almost by his will. She felt his thoughts and desires - once numbed to nothing but accepting his fate, but upon seeing her, he felt a single, burning desire. It ripped through her in desperation. Dearil felt like she was being squeezed from the inside from the pure, raw emotion. Its intensity made her eyes well up with tears._

_"Tell him…my Hunter…only you can…warn…"_

-**_TTOT_**-

Dearil woke up with a start. She gasped in a deep breath, panting heavily in a cold sweat. Her entire body seemed to ache in pain, but she felt no physical wounds. She winced and felt a sharp sting in her stomach. Reaching down, she found that her hand was warm with sticky blood. Well, not _no_ physical wounds, as it turns out.

She was still in her bed, wearing the odd clothes of the humans. She wondered if she had even gotten up in the first place. She swore she had. But at the same time, she felt like she couldn't remember if it were just a dream or not.

"Fionn…What wish consumes your being so passionately in the thralls of death? What curse have you placed upon our being so dire indeed?"

She carefully poured heat magic into her wound, flames dancing across her hand before entering the wound and healing it. She didn't want to fall asleep, and she was sure that even if she did, she wouldn't be able to. She was used to being unable to sleep - her brothers had given her insomnia with their constant meddlesome pranks during the night.

At least it was quiet. She leaned back and gently fell against the pillow to rest her head. All that lit the dark room was a dim moonbeam from the window.

She realized, for the first time that night, that she was gripping a knife tightly in her hand. The knife she'd found earlier before she'd passed out. So it _hadn't_ been a dream! She sat up, holding the weapon in front of her. She was enticed, but terrified at the same time. She held the dark blade out in front of her, staring into her reflection in an almost mesmerized state.

"**_Save them! You're the only one who can save them!_**" Her reflection shifted to a panicked face filled with desperation and grim acceptance. "**_Please! I'm begging-!_**"

Fionn cried out in pain and Dearil realized she had done the same thing. On her arm was a deep cut. Her entire body pulsed with the same pain of her dream, but far more intense since she was no longer shielded by the haze of unconsciousness. It was painful, but she had learned to endure pain quite well. She had dropped the knife in her exclamation and Fionn disappeared from its murky, shimmering surface. She felt no more pain spasming through her entire body, though her arm was still bleeding.

She drew a quick heat sigil as the wound closed. She drew a rune to clean herself of the blood. Her hand was trembling. She nearly drew the rune wrong. Her entire body was shaking. She couldn't hold still.

No, no she couldn't go into a panic now!

She saw her stuffed bear sitting on the floor beside her brother where she had last been. She tumbled over herself, falling off the bed (she didn't even know how she'd gotten back on) with quaking limbs. She snatched up the stuffed animal and inhaled its familiar scent. She was still shaking horribly, the tension in her stomach gripping her nerves and causing spasms.

She wasn't thinking as she pulled close to her brother and took in the scent of the sea.

"Mother…"

She felt arms wrap around her and pull her close. Fingers ran gently through her hair. Together, the two siblings waited out the night wishing for their absent mother.

* * *

"So…Fionn Flann…"

Kieran nodded.

Dearil sometimes wished she was a leaf, blowing in the wind. At least then, she wouldn't be blamed for letting the breeze take her where it pleased. There were times she wished she knew where she should go, how she should act. Like right now, she had no idea how she was supposed to respond to the stories that Kieran told her.

It seemed impossible. That she had become Fionn Flann, that she had lost decades of her life. She had become everything she'd ever wanted, watched Kieran grow and raised him how she had planned. And yet it had all been taken from her. And at the same time, Fionn Flann had been the one to take her mother's life. Fionn Flann had taken Kieran's mother away from him before he could even grow old enough to properly know her.

Further confusing her, according to Kieran, the decade that she had lost of her life had been returned to her. And yet still she remained in the dark.

She had woken one day in the Court, being told that she had awoken from a stupor after a warlock had taken her. Was she held prisoner? It was implied. Over a decade of her life, gone, just like that. But life had resumed as normal, and so she hadn't put much thought into it. The only physical difference she felt was that she had a scar on her left ear that had damaged its tip. A scar that demonstrated her surviving being kidnapped by a warlock, she decided. The only real thing that had changed was that her mother said she had become pregnant again during her lost memories. After that, Dearil had spent her days returning to her normal routine, only wanting to make sure that her mother got the best care possible and had a healthy baby.

So much lost to her…and so few answers even with it all explained in front of her.

"I will…remember?"

Kieran nodded. "That is the word of the warlock."

"You tell me of Father's ill intent, and yet you know not of his plans for me?"

"His intention is to get Phoenix's power out of you." Warlock walked into the room with another tray of food.

Ah, and there was _that_ as well. She needed memories of her former self being raised with Warlock, memories of Fionn Flann, and memories of the Astral Phoenix. Three lives she supposedly lived and lost. She'd happily give control back to those people, if only she didn't have to be in charge and make decisions. She just wanted to be told how to proceed.

Gods, she wasn't ready for this. She just wanted to go home, she wanted everything to make sense, and she didn't want the burden of having all these other people that she was supposed to…summon or remember or make decisions as if she _were_ them. She wanted to go back. She wanted to go back to before she'd ever left the Court, to before her father's ultimatum. She just wanted a sense of her normal life again, no matter how much it hurt.

"And he doesn't seem intent on waiting patiently any longer," Warlock continued. "Kieran was born for the purpose of keeping you under his control, urging you to unlock Phoenix's memories and powers so that you can bless him and the Court."

"I would give my father what he desires were it in my ability," Dearil insisted. "If only that would bring me peace."

Warlock sighed and set her food tray in front of her, resting on the bed. "I don't know a lot about the whole Astral situation. All I know is that you were hurting. He was treating you terribly, little gem. If he truly wants your blessing, he shouldn't have hurt you as he did."

"He _protected_ me. The lands of Faerie are cruel and harsh - perhaps you would not understand, Warlock! What you might call cruelty is my father's veneration."

He pursed his lips, clearly holding back his words. When he spoke, he was clearly very controlled. "It's your decision. I want you safe, young one. The King took your memories multiple times when you became what he did not desire."

"Then I will be what he desires! I will do as he wishes - if only I could…" She tried not to let her voice break.

Dearil let her head fall as she stared down at the warlock's brew. She had struggled her whole life to live up to her father's expectations, but she always messed up. When told to hold still, her body cried out and refused to obey. When told to listen to something important, her brain faded in and out and chose what information it wanted to process almost without her input. When told not to touch something, her body couldn't seem to help itself. She always had trouble guessing what was right and what was wrong - and when she guessed wrong, the consequences were dire. If she saw an error, she felt the compulsive urge to fix it, so at least she was able to make herself a useful servant doing jobs that others didn't have the constitution for. She was fine with being subservient to her superiors, those who knew better than her. She just needed someone to tell her what to do and she just needed to be able to do it.

Why couldn't life ever be that easy for her?

Warlock reached out carefully, as though she were something delicate. He rested his hand gently on hers. "If you ever change your mind, if your life in the Court can never be what you desire, then know that my doors will be open to you. Even if it is temporary, I would welcome your presence if I might be a safe haven for you to escape. In Faerie, I am known as ZeB, and personally, I am called Zytaveon Bane."

The two of them explained that Kieran needed to return to the Wild Hunt, and if the plan was to evade the Unseelie Court, then Gwyn may offer her protection to some degree. Kieran himself admitted that he would likely be punished by the Court for a crime he previously committed, and that he needed to wait to see if Gwyn would be the one to choose his punishment or if he would be handed over to the Court.

"Kieran will escort you back into Faerie if that is what you desire," Warlock said. "Many things have changed in the years you have lost. The Shadow World is not kind to faeries these days, and you yourself are likely being hunted down to be returned to the Unseelie Court by force. Kieran must return to the Wild Hunt. Will you at least join him to see Gwyn and then procure a safer escort to the Unseelie Court if that is still what you desire?"

Dearil wished he didn't ask for her opinion. For such a beautiful warlock, he was so naïve.

"That's the plan," a voice announced.

The orange-haired angel leaned against the doorframe. "There aren't a lot of options, but you should at least go to Gwyn with Kieran. I don't know Gwyn personally, but from the few interactions I've seen of him and from second-hand accounts, he'll probably have a better argument than _we_ can put up for why you shouldn't desire going back to the Court. I'd watch over you if I could, but I can't."

Dearil stared at the beautiful angel. He confused her, though that was likely just because she had so many missing memories - so many missing years. She knew about the Accords, how Shadowhunters supposedly protected people of the Downworld. She still wasn't sure what to make of this Nephilim. Why did a piece of her want him to come with?

'_My Hunter…I love you._'

She stared at the Shadowhunter's face. She felt the urge to count his freckles.

"Dearil!"

She blinked, realizing she'd stopped listening to the conversation.

"Easy, you don't have to yell at her," Warlock scolded. Judging by Kieran's chastised look, he was the one who'd called her name - and he regretted being so harsh.

"My apologies," he said lightly.

Dearil blinked. Her brothers never apologized. They had no reason to apologize to her. They weren't in the wrong, _she_ was - for always zoning out and missing a conversation. She voiced her concerns, lowering her head and letting her hand fall in her face.

"Hey, you have a right to be upset if someone isn't respecting your basic needs." Warlock brushed her hair back and prevented the curtain of maroon from hiding her face. "There's nothing wrong with the way you think, Dearil. If people have a problem with it, then that's _their_ problem, not yours. There are some things you just can't force yourself to be - and you aren't responsible for sacrificing your own health for the sake of others. If they aren't willing to sacrifice anything for you, then _you_ are not obligated to do the same."

"My family has always protected me," she insisted. "To them I owe my existence, life and limb. They are my blood."

"There's a human term we like to use: 'Blood is thicker than water,' which says that familial relations take precedence over friends and comrades." Dearil nodded, but Veon went on. "But that's wrong. That is a wildly incorrect bastardization of the saying. The full term is: 'The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.' It means that the relationships you forge by choice hold deeper meaning than those of mere biology."

"That doesn't mean you can't hold your family close, Dearil," the angel added. She liked hearing him use that name for some odd reason. "It just means that you should choose to protect and help them out of mutual trust and loyalty between each other. You shouldn't be loyal to someone simply because you are related. My father pisses me off; I only follow his orders because he's my superior in the eyes of the Clave, but now I'm old enough to make my own choices, and I'd choose to get away from him. I lost my mom when I was little; I loved her back then. But if she were to suddenly return, I'd only follow her if she was _still_ a good person."

"I never knew my parents, not really," Veon shrugged casually. "If my demon father popped up one day and told me to turn on my friends, I wouldn't do it. He's given me no reason to respect him over my family here - even if the ones I value aren't my blood relatives. Just keep that in mind."

Dearil exhaled through her nose, but she nodded. "Yes, Sir ZeB."

The warlock's eyes lit up and almost seemed to sparkle. "Aw, you flatter me! She called me 'Sir Zeb!'"

"That's what you _told_ her you were called," the angel Finnegan rebutted. "Even _I_ didn't know you were called that! What is _with_ you all the aliases?"

He shrugged. "You gotta go by lots of names when you're dealing with tough clients. Faeries are included. And for the record, I only use ZeB as my codename for the most part. Dearil was the one who came yelling that we needed to call each other 'Warlock' and 'Faerie' when she came to me to make her demon deal. Fionn and I went by Faerie and Warlock even as we stayed in touch. Once a Shadowhunter came into the mix, I impulsively stayed on theme. Sue me." He turned back to Dearil eagerly. "You used to call me Sir ZeB in your lost life, Dearil. Oh, I've missed that you. It's good to have the memories back, at least."

He ruffled his big hands through her hair. She reached up and smoothed it out again.

Dearil wanted to heave another heavy sigh, but she resisted. It seemed that _everyone_ knew more about her than she knew about herself. She wished she could give them that version of her so that _this_ her didn't have to deal with all the anxiety of being…_her_.

"We will go to Gwyn then, yes?" she repeated.

Kieran nodded. "We leave at dawn."

She looked like she wanted to protest, but she simply nodded and reached for the spoon to eat her magic soup.

-**_TTOT_**-

"Kieran, were you fond of Fionn Flann?"

Kieran's mismatched eyes rose to hers. "He was my brother - both in arms and in blood."

"Did you love him?"

"Yes," he said honestly.

"Did you hate him?"

"Yes."

"Was he…was _I_ a good man?"

Kieran did not answer for a long time. "I believe so, yes. Others may disagree. There were times that I doubted him, but I would exalt his brotherhood above the many others."

Dearil frowned. Even hearing about Fionn didn't make her feel much better. She had always wanted to be someone like Fionn, but she began to doubt that Fionn had managed to do anything better than she. In a way, perhaps he had become just as her other brothers.

"Do you believe Father has ill intent upon us?"

"I've no doubt the Court will punish me for my actions. Depending on Gwyn's judgment, I could be spared my life with luck. If I am taken to the Court, there is little doubt that I will be executed."

Dearil felt her heart clench and the blood pound through her ears. She had just met Kieran, she knew so little about him, but she felt her body react at the idea that Kieran would perish.

"NO!"

The word escaped unbid by her. She'd been impulsive before, her body working against her even knowing the consequences, but never had she felt such an explosive urge to protect Kieran even at the cost of her own pain.

"No, you…you cannot. Not unless I am to perish as well! I will not be the one to live with you gone…" Her eyes were drawn to Kieran's knife that had been returned to his belt. "That was what he wanted." She shook her head. "Fionn made a choice. He wished to die before he witnessed the loss of everything he loved. He refused to be the last one living…that was his plan. He would die before you, but he would raise you to be self-sufficient until then. That is what his curse was. He desired it. He wished to be punished for being so selfish - for being a coward." She scoffed. "It is a challenge to rage at his actions when he was far from incompetent. He knew full well what he did - prepared, had he, his own retribution, ready to face it. A fate worse than death; he didn't even try to escape through suicide."

"Do you know what thoughts he might ponder?"

She shook her head. "The memories are…temporary. They flee like smoke through a net, like water through one's fingers." She held up her delicate hand. "There is only the ghost of assumption remaining - only the dampness left on my skin to prove I had touched the river's flowing stream."

"Do you believe the stream still flows?"

She wiggled her fingers, sweeping them gently through the air. "The stream is gone. Evaporated into the sky - and all that is left…is mist."

Kieran held his hand up unconsciously, as though he could somehow feel the wisps of Fionn's memories in the air if he tried hard enough.

"But perhaps," Dearil went on, "one day, the clouds will converge, they will cry, and the stream will rain down upon us and flow once again."

-**_TTOT_**-

"Go on."

Finnegan appreciated his parabatai. She had always stood by him. She had been an annoying pain in the ass at times, but that had pushed him forward to become better and stronger.

But right now, he did _not_ appreciate her.

"I can't just-"

"You may not be able to see her for a long time, Finn. Shouldn't you be trying to make a lasting impression on her?"

"I'm not going to force her to recognize me; I'm not going to pretend that she's someone she's not."

"Then take this chance to get to know who she is _now_. We don't know when we'll see each other again, but you _do_ want to see her again, right?"

"I…of _course_, I do, but…I won't-"

"You won't _force_ her, I know. And you _aren't_. I think she already likes you."

"Really?" he asked skeptically.

"You know about the faerie Courts' obsession with those who can play music. When you sang to her, I think you were genuinely able to bring her back. You know what Veon said about her medical conditions? What she had back there, learning her mother died, that was a panic attack. It's physically and mentally draining - both to her and to those around her. They don't just go away; it's a deep…painful…terror that rests within her, that's constantly holding her very core at knifepoint, and at any moment she…just can't hold back the floodwater. You know that, Finn. It's different for everyone, but with all her…_conditions_, and the fact that she's had very little support in her life - that she's had active _abuse_…I think she needs a friend. We all wanna help her, but how about you start? Faeries like instrumentalists, and at the very least your singing seemed to calm her down."

Finn exhaled. "I don't even know what I'd say."

"Just start with 'hello' and go from there. Just _go_." She shoved him towards the door and he glared at her.

Dearil was sitting in her bed, her legs under the covers. She was moving the lumps of her feet underneath as though she was still getting used to the idea of a blanket itself. Her Centurion cloak was still on her, wrapped around her shoulders. She had her stuffed bear in her arms.

"Hey," Finn announced.

Dearil looked up. Her eyes were blazing like fire. Finnegan missed Fionn's dark eyes that shimmered with passion and pain.

By the Angel, he was becoming too poetic for his own good.

"Hello sir angel," Dearil said.

"You may call me Finnegan or Finn."

She frowned. "Which shall I call you?"

Finn realized that Dearil hadn't called him by his name because she hadn't been given a definitive name to call him by. She didn't seem to like having to make a choice on her own because there was always a chance that she could choose wrong. He knew that feeling. She just wanted a straightforward order; tell her exactly how to do it so she can do it. He hadn't ever felt so deeply conflicted that he couldn't decide between a nickname or a real name, but he could put together the pieces to at least see where she was coming from. He assumed Faeries liked full names, and he really should be more careful with how he gave his name to them. But he knew Dearil wasn't a threat. He wondered what he would've done if she were cruel and arrogant and everything that he hated - and if he was everything _she_ hated.

"I don't mind Finnegan or Finn. My closer associates call me Finn as a sign of casualty while Finnegan is used in a more formal setting."

"Then I must call you Sir Finnegan?"

"You don't need the 'sir.' Just Finnegan will do."

"Do…?" she repeated. Finnegan realized she was asking - repeating as a question.

"Suffice," he revised. "Finnegan will suffice."

She nodded. Her thick accent (something that Fionn had clearly refined over the years) suggested that her English wasn't mastered yet and that dialects and odd vernaculars were going to trip her up. He needed to remind himself to simplify things. Speaking with faeries already involved mental gymnastics so that he didn't reveal anything or phrase anything the wrong way. He'd gotten so used to relaxing around Fionn that he was probably out of practice.

"I…I'm sorry for all the confusion. Everything that's happened to you…it must be a lot."

She nodded gently. He could tell that she had a lot to say, too much to put into words. Maybe that wasn't the best thing to bring up. She lost her mother, her brother, her home, and her future all without even knowing it. She just…woke up one day, and everything she cherished was gone, and all certainty of her path forward was up in the air. Everyone seemed to know her better than she knew herself - or at least they knew a version of her that others expected her to be.

Finnegan knew how scary that could be. The Angel knows how long it took for him to finally grow comfortable expressing himself and being sure of his choices - and he wouldn't have been able to do any of it without his friends. Without Fionn…Finnegan could hardly imagine he'd be alive right now.

Simon Lewis - now Simon Lovelace after his Ascension - had described what it was like having so many people know him, expect some hero that he felt he was not. He had lost memories of his best friend since childhood, the memories of how he'd managed to somehow get someone like Isabelle Lightwood (who he felt was out of his league) to be so in love with him, and how he'd managed to befriend people like Jace or Alec. Finnegan felt bad that Dearil had to leave, that she wouldn't have the support that Simon had, but maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was better that they didn't overwhelm her with expectations of a person she was not.

"So, uh…Veon says you - I mean ZeB? - he says you…er, like that stuffed bear."

She flinched, as though he had just told her that she shouldn't be allowed to have it.

"Do you - does it…jog any memories?" He tried to recover. "It's good if it helps you. It doesn't _have_ to jog your memory or anything; it's good even if it just makes you feel a little better and helps you sleep! It's…good to have something that you - I'm glad if you've got something to help you. I know _I'm_ no help - I'm an idiot and I should really stop talking; I'm just repeating the same thing over and over…"

He could tell that she was trying her best to hide a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She quickly chastised herself and bit her lip to stop it. Her mood worsened once more, clearly burdened by some memory, and any urge to smile was quickly crushed.

"It's okay for you to smile freely here," he threw out. "This isn't some test to see if you can suppress emotion. In fact I wish you would express yourself freely."

She nodded without meeting his eyes. "Yes, Sir Finnegan." She clenched her teeth. "Finnegan," she amended, though she looked as though she knew it was too late to have corrected herself.

"Are you uncomfortable with using my personal name without titles?"

"Yes, Finnegan." He could feel the strain in her voice even though she tried to hide it.

"Then you may use 'Sir' as you please."

"Thank you, Sir Finnegan."

It still felt awkward to him, but he'd adjust for her sake.

Her voice was demure and clearly shy now that she was fully conscious and aware of her situation. She was probably intimidated by a conversation one-on-one as opposed to with a group. Heck, it could just be _Finnegan_ by himself that bothered her. He didn't know how she was raised, not really, but on the outside it looked like a big, strong Shadowhunter male speaking to a small, shy faerie girl who considered herself the equivalent of a servant to even her own kind.

Faeries often acted as equals, even superiors, to Shadowhunters, but there were also those who were afraid of Shadowhunters and respected them out of that fear. He hadn't met many faeries who felt themselves _below_ Shadowhunters necessarily - they were prideful creatures. Finnegan would just try to treat her like he would've wanted to be treated back when he was like her - expected to be stronger, but weak and breaking on the inside under the weight of expectations.

"I'm…glad we could find something that makes your stay more comfortable. That's what I meant before."

"Thank you for your concern unto my wellbeing, Sir Finnegan."

He internally wondered how practiced her English was; he'd heard worse and thicker accents from mundane servants at some of the Institutes he'd visited. She _did_ sound as though she were focusing and using pre-made sentences, though that could be because she needed to be careful about how she spoke to superiors.

"I…I hope you'll be okay," he said. He was unsure of how to proceed forward, what he should even talk _about_. "That you'll be…safe. And happy."

Dearil winced and held her head, her grip tightening around her stuffed bear.

"Are you okay? Hey. Dearil?"

She slowly began to relax as the pain in her head receded. Probably a memory flowing back through her. He hoped that her memories wouldn't be too painful to recall if _this_ was how affected she was before she'd even begun. But Val had warned that while everyone else would suffer varying levels of headaches, Dearil herself would be facing possible seizure-like bouts as she returned an entire lifetime into herself - not just in mind, but in body.

"You…you are the Nephilim of melodies, yes?" she muttered.

"Yeah, I play a lot of different songs. Pretty well, in my opinion. At the very least I'm not _bad_-"

Before he could ramble about his insecure playing, she interjected, "Might you play…?" She sounded like she wanted to say 'for me,' but was too afraid to request anything for her sake - as if she weren't worthy of the attention.

"Of course," he said. "You can just relax."

He helped her lay back against the pillows and then reached over for his seraph violin. He considered what he wanted her to hear - her first impression of his music. He probably wanted to do a violin version of the song, even if he was going to sing. An entire chorus of music would be too loud for the situation. He wanted a relaxing melody, slow but hopeful.

Finally, he decided on a song, letting his instincts choose how he went forward. He began to play the opening notes, finding it soothing on violin - though normally the intro at least was played on a piano. He let himself fall into the melody, translating the piano parts to violin while still allowing himself to sing the lyrics.

"_Alone for a while, I've been searching through the dark_  
"_For traces of the love you left, inside my lonely heart_  
"_To weave by picking up the pieces that remain_,  
"_Melodies of life, love's lost refrain_.

"_Our paths, they did cross, though I cannot say just why_  
"_We met, we laughed, we held on fast, and then we said goodbye_  
"_And who'll hear the echoes of stories never told?_  
"_Let them ring out loud, till they unfold_.

"_In my dearest memories…_  
"_I see you reaching out to me_  
"_Though you're gone_,  
"_I still believe that you can call ~ out my name_.

"_A voice from the past, joining yours and mine_  
"_Adding up the layers of harmony_  
"_And so it goes, on and on_  
"_Melodies of life, to the sky beyond the flying birds~_  
"_Forever and beyond~_

-**_TTOT_**-

Laura sighed. "He's going to be such a _wonderful_ Musician."

"You know that Musician is an actual _word_ for someone who plays an instrument, right?" Veon pointed out.

"Yes, well Musician the _god_ came first. We are gods of music and sound. Humans just started using the term for themselves, believing to be gods of music as well."

"Letting his heart do the playing is always when Finn is at his best," Selina said. "A good choice of song for Dearil, but you can hear it in the lyrics too. He chose this one for himself as well."

"_So far and away, see the bird as it flies by_  
"_Gliding through the shadows of the clouds up in the sky_  
"_I've laid my memories and dreams upon those wings_  
"_Leave them now, and see what tomorrow brings_

"_In your dearest memories_,  
"_Do you remember loving me?_  
"_Was it fate…_  
"_That brought us close and now leaves ~ me behind?_

Dearil began humming the chorus, having already heard it the first time. She hadn't memorized the lyrics or the melody exactly, but she ended up providing a gentle harmony without even thinking about it. Or maybe that was Finn's magic from the violin helping her out. Either way, it seemed to calm Dearil down and she did indeed like the tune.

"_And if I should leave this lonely world behind_,  
"_Your voice will still remember ~ our melody_

"_Now I know we'll carry on_  
"_Melodies of life, come circle round and grow deep in our hearts~_  
"_As long as we remember_."

He played the outro that gently descended into silence, which he let hang in the air a moment before he finally lowered his instrument.

"Shadowhunters usually don't care about music that much," Selina said. "For the most part, music is accepted - even encouraged in some cases. But Finn's father began to hate music, especially after his mother…left. It was seen as a distraction to his studies as a Shadowhunter, especially if it wasn't classical music."

"How oppressive," Laura sighed.

"That's just how life can be," Veon sighed. "Sometimes it really hurts to even _think_ about the things that can happen to minors with so many holes in the Law. Anyone under 18 is practically treated like they have no agency against their superiors. If Shadowhunters were incapable of love, they would be weapons of absolute destruction."

"And they wouldn't be allowed under the rules of the AEGIS Covenant," Selina said.

"Oh, _that's_ a given," Laura scoffed. "Angels like Raziel are bound by the Covenant of the gods as tightly as the rest. Normal Nephilim are outlawed because of how destructively strong they could become."

"What kind of destruction are we talking?" Veon asked.

"Well the _weaker_ of the True Nephilim are probably born from the lowest of angels, and even _they_ would be capable of fighting some of the demons on the levels of the Greater Demons of today. You must understand that back during the initial wave of demon invasions that incited Jonathan Shadowhunter to summon the angel Raziel in the first place…the demons back then were savage and fierce and became as commonplace as any other demon or monsters in mythology. Society today would never exist - humans would never be unaware of demons and the Shadow World and the supernatural - if not for the efforts of the AEGIS Covenant to protect and separate humans from all this danger and chaos."

"Raziel had to agree to some terms in order for his new breed of Shadowhunters to be allowed to exist, but it was such a dangerous situation back then that there was not a lot of room to deny how useful having humans with angel blood would be," Selina went on. "At first, Raziel's Nephilim were…well, we actually thought they were pretty cool. Then they grew arrogant, their rituals felt strict and cruel, and they refused to discern between what was pure demon and what was only half-demon. Anything that wasn't mundane levels of human wasn't human - so Downworlders - but they also felt that we gods were a threat to them as well."

"We began to place strict rules, using our powers to strike them down when they rose arms against us and against the AEGIS Covenant's laws that were created for the sake of peace. We created an entire branch for them in the Covenant, and eventually we stopped treating them like humans and agreed to make contact with them diplomatically when necessary."

"We gotta refine the new rules as the modern age changes," Selina sighed. "We'd been wanting to improve things for a while now, and thankfully Clary and her influence has at least made a bit of a difference while we've all been distracted."

Veon sighed. "You can't make instant changes. You can defeat the evil king and put a righteous king in his place, but as the generations go on, any line or position can become corrupt. Corruption is easier than cleansing because corruption uses dirty methods."

"Appropriate," Laura said.

"It is a soul, it is choice, that makes you mortal and makes you worthy," Selina shrugged. "As long as humans, warlocks, vampires, werewolves, faeries, and anything else has the agency to choose, we will treat them as worthy of protection. Even the angels agree to that - though they are less inclined to intervene unless their 'God' directly tells them to."

Finnegan came out of Dearil's room, glancing back at her constantly as if to check if she was still there.

"She doing okay?" Selina asked.

"She fell asleep," he said lightly.

"Well she has a big day tomorrow," Veon said. "Kieran's almost done organizing supplies with Andy and Val and he'll hopefully get some rest too."

Finn stared back at Dearil sleeping with her stuffed bear. He looked so despondent that Selina didn't even need her parabatai bond to know that he was missing Fionn but also growing attached to Dearil herself. They'd only had a short interaction, but the two already seemed to at least like each other and connected through music.

"You should sleep too, Finn," Selina said.

He sucked in a deep breath. His entire body was shaky. "I'm not sure I really can," he admitted.

"I can brew you something if you want," Veon offered.

"Yeah, that'd…that'd help."

He sulked off to his guest room and Veon frowned before moving to gather a few little ingredients for a potion to help Finnegan sleep.

"Poor Finn," Laura sighed. "He's on the brink of losing his lover in two forms."

Selina frowned. "And _you're_ risking losing Phoenix, yes?"

"Faerie is filled with a lot more enemies and a lot more allies, but Dearil herself is less developed in terms of Phoenix's powers. We can't track her right now because she's off the godly radar. Fionn barely touched the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Phoenix's power, and that took _years_ of knowing you. We definitely knew about _Lorcan_ Dearil, but she's more than strong enough to handle her own."

"So why didn't you take Lorcan in for protection?"

"Because though she was well-known, she refused to work with us or Phoenix. She…well, she didn't want to get involved. Especially when she learned…" Laura sighed. "Especially when she learned it would mean she'd have to help her father."

"But…doesn't she have to renew the Infernian blessing on the Unseelie Court or it'll start to die?"

Laura shrugged. "Guess that didn't matter to her. She had _finally_ been given freedom after years of thinking…well, that she had no choice, that she had to wait for others to tell her what to do, and that she had to let her biology dictate her life. Veon freed her from that life, and she didn't want to do something that was decided from before she was born."

Selina sighed. "I suppose I understand that."

"In any case, we've informed the PR members in Faerie and they'll decide how to move forward. We're not exactly a subtle branch of PR, but we're not exactly the strongest either. With bigger threats come bigger protections. Both Lorcan and this Dearil are going to have to eventually accept Phoenix and the burdens that Phoenix must uphold. I fear if they don't-"

"We're all pretty much screwed, yes. But the problem is…Fionn was under his spell, yes, but he barely wanted to be Phoenix, Lorcan doesn't want to be Phoenix as far as we know, and at the moment this Dearil definitely doesn't have the constitution to be Phoenix either. PR really should have someone guiding them to Phoenix's awakening. And don't tell me it's illegal; Phoenix and his power have come close enough to emerging and awakening that we could argue technicalities for _days_."

Laura sighed. "You know how hectic things are right now; I don't doubt that we could feign innocence and help out at least wake Phoenix. But our little crew here…we've done all we can under those technicalities. And we got commands from the higher-ups - the _really_ higher-ups. The ones that know what we've done without even needing to spy or anything. There's a…lock." She held her hand up to her chest. "Like chains binding my heart, they clench down on my very existence whenever I act out of line. Those blindings hold us _all_ in check, you know that, but I can feel them watching carefully - the chains hold fast and tighten even further than before now. Our crew is basically on house arrest right now after all we've interfered."

Selina snorted. "I'd hardly count the amount of 'interference' that's happened punishment-worthy."

Even so, Selina knew exactly what Laura was talking about. Seline was bound, same as the other gods, by the invisible force that kept fate in line as it should be. Gods and angels and celestials could only watch and keep the course of fate on the correct path; none were ever meant to do anything more. Many Astrals who were more humane could go about their days even as normal mortals, with only a small tug in their gut if they ended up meeting an important person or witnessing an important event. They knew when they should interfere and when they shouldn't, and when they stepped out of line in a way that could majorly alter history, their very existence could be put in agony and stopped by force. It wasn't like a policed monitoring system or anything - it was simply built into the very energies that made them deities in the first place. The same way a magnet would repel its same charge, deities were repelled from any foolish actions.

"The higher-ups have things as they want them. People, events, fate - they believe everything is where it should be as we go forward. Whether that's a good or a bad thing, Seline, we can only wait and see."

* * *

**Chapter title: '_Missing_' by Evanescence**

**The song Finnegan sings is 'Melodies of Life' from Final Fantasy 9 - a beautiful game with beautiful music if only the gameplay didn't have such stupid mechanics.**


	25. Getting Closer To Knowing Where I Belong

**Ahhhhhhh! We're finally at the end! I'm off to Lord of Shadows with my own plot.**

**I doubt anyone's reading this since this thing was so long, but hey, I feel accomplished that I managed to finish this. I've been so engrossed in this story because I'm excited to get to my end goal with my characters and also QoAaD is so long but so goooood. Good gods Cassandra Clare is just releasing so many books and I wonder when it'll come to an end.**

**I need to get to the damn sequel of my FF13 story, and also get to the HoO story because like I've got three to four chapters lined up, I just haven't gotten much plot to actually post and therefore have been saving it up. I've been working so much on THIS story (hehe 300,000+ words totaled on this story and almost 100,000 of it was in these last few chapters) that my other, more popular ones, have been neglected so here's hoping I can stay on track.**

**Now onto what I'm going to name the next story…**

**:)**

* * *

"Kieran, do you want to see Fionn again?"

Finnegan still felt awkward around Kieran. Where Fionn had been kind to him ever since they'd met, Kieran had no such mercy. He hadn't had to deal with comforting Finnegan away from suicide within their first few encounters. Finnegan had once felt bold enough to kiss Fionn right in front of his brother - but that was with Fionn by his side, feeling more confident than ever of their safety and victory.

But Kieran was…well, he was the brother of the one Finnegan liked - loved. It wasn't like the two were particularly close.

"Will you aid us in saving Fionn?"

Kieran didn't answer for an extended period of time. Finn knew that awkward silence was probably not something the Fair Folk feared, and he himself had tried to refine his twitchy attitude, but even so, something about being stuck with Kieran just…

"Kieran, are you going to help or not?"

"I don't know!" Kieran finally snapped.

Finnegan could only stare at him. "You don't…how can you be _uncertain_ about helping him? Your _brother?!_ If nothing else, you owe him your life-"

"Don't you think I know that?!"

Fionn had once admitted to Finnegan that he felt Kieran resembled their mother more heavily than Fionn did; Fionn felt that he himself had inherited none of their mother's traits and Kieran had turned out the 'proper' son by comparison. Finnegan now knew that he had also felt inadequacy at being born a woman - a daughter rather than a son, a princess in a Court filled with princes. He knew that Fionn probably wanted to be born a prince if only to blend in with the dozens of others.

But Finnegan could see Fionn in Kieran's face now. Once, Finnegan might've seen nothing but the regular fey features that come of the Fair Folk - he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between gentry faeries and their ethereal beauty. Now he noticed the specific angles of their cheekbones, their eye placement and shape, the curve of their noses, the way their ears pointed out within their hair at the same angle. He couldn't say particularly what might be shared between them and the masses, but he could definitely say that Fionn wasn't the only one to inherit traits from their mother - not that he knew what _she_ looked like, only that if Kieran resembled her enough for Dearil to easily identify him, then Fionn definitely shared her traits as well.

"Perhaps I am not ready for his return! Not yet," Kieran added lightly. He took a shallow breath and quickly recomposed himself. "I wish to…there are parts of me that wish to confront Fionn for his crimes - bring down upon him proper retribution, and to hear what excuses he may have that I might dismiss in my fury. And there are other parts of my soul that do not want the truth to be spoken." He scoffed. "As if unspoken truth holds less weight; as though they can unmake the past. How human of me to feel such things. I had once scorned Mark on that very subject. I…I cannot…I am not ready to confront Fionn."

"So you won't use the weapon?"

He tugged the blade out of the scabbard Veon and Andy had made to hide and contain the blade's dark power. Kieran didn't know how to control it as Fionn had, and they warned that relying on the knife when he didn't know its strength could backfire on him drastically. That being said, it could still absorb people into it (though that would only add to Fionn's death sentence) and break through many powerful enchantments. Only something as dark and cursed as Fionn's sentence would ever resist the weapon's power. Hopefully they never had to meet something like that.

"I believe…Fionn has already been imprisoned within the blade."

"Can you sense it?"

"I have always…since my infancy I have always sensed my brother like none other of my kind. And he has always known my suffering. I thought it to be commonplace, to be connected to my kin, my beloved brother who shares not only the blood of our father but that of our mother as well. He could sense my pain, and I came to believe I could do the same."

"Like intuition?" Kieran nodded. "Kind of like a parabatai bond then."

"This bond was born of blood, not fire. Dearil…Fionn's curse that made him into a man drained his magical reserves to the point that he required a warlock's aid to survive."

"Which is why he was forced to stay in touch with Veon."

"Gwyn likely knew of his affairs, allowing him to depart the lands of Faerie without facing death so long as he intended to return to the Wild Hunt. He was bound by the Hunt, no matter if he might step beyond Faerieland's boundaries. However, now that Dearil has returned, her curse does not drain her energies and she is far more magically adept than Fionn. But what cannot be stripped away through change of form is blood." He held up his hand, which contained a light scar spanning the length of his palm. "Fionn bound us through my infancy through a blood oath. Even though Dearil had not made that oath, her finger contains the scar of Fionn's contribution. We are bound by an oath that has coursed through our veins for decades."

Finnegan thought back to the many scars that Fionn had, so many that he beared with pride, saying they symbolize all that he has survived. Now that he thought about it, Fionn rubbed his index finger at times when he was thinking about his brother. Finnegan had never noticed, he was ashamed to say, such a quirk. Maybe he was just imaging remembering Fionn doing anything at all.

"So you know that Fionn's in the blade because you can sense him…but I thought the oath was of blood."

"Blood eventually bleeds to the soul," Kieran dismissed. "I was a mere infant upon the sealing of our bond; I have known of nothing less. It was carved within my soul, and I've no doubt Fionn purposefully carved it within his own. He began a new life upon the curse to become Fionn, so essentially we are both newborns at the time of the oath." He motioned to the dark blade, swirling with sickening magical energies. "He is there, he is suffering. Dearil must know it as well. I woke one night with her beside me, plagued by the night's glamours of her mind."

"Nightmares…of Fionn?"

He nodded. "She does not like the blade. She claims to hear screams, and once she held it only to bleed from an unknown attack. It was all the more imperative that a scabbard to contain the weapon be made."

"I thought that Fionn's soul being returned to the weapon would…I mean it got what it wanted. Why would the curse on the blade remain?"

"Perchance it is because I was not the one to slay Fionn though I took the burden of doing so; mayhap though Fionn is the one to have made the oath, his soul was not whole at the time and yet remains incomplete as he suffers. There are many odd things to have occurred to beget our current circumstances. What matters now is that Dearil is not Fionn, and she would suffer a fate unjust should she wish to save him. I would not ask that of her."

Finnegan felt himself pale, the blood rushing from his face. Fionn must've been…he was to be tortured by everyone he had killed with that blade. His own, self-made punishment. He used the weapon to kill countless enemies knowing what it would mean for him. If Dearil was afraid of such a fate, if she would be harmed trying to get him back…there was even a possibility that to retrieve Fionn, Dearil would have to take his place. He knew bargains, he knew how cruel they could be to counter and reverse.

"It…it's her choice. It's her…she chooses to bear the responsibility or she chooses to leave him. That's…we…I won't make her choose that. If it brings her pain, then she does not have to bear the weight of his sins."

Kieran stared solemnly at the sifting aura within the blade. He almost imagined that the hue had changed; he'd grown up with that weapon always at his brother's side. Something about it was different - it was crueler, it was satisfied that it could now torture its intended victim. And maybe it was sad too, though he couldn't say why. Yes, he sensed a tinge of sadness within the weapon, somehow.

"Did you love him?" Finnegan asked.

"Yes," Kieran replied automatically. "And I hated him. The bond of brotherhood is complex, filled with both adoration and disdain."

"True brotherhood, you mean. It is entirely possible for kin to hate each other with no love, those that do not feel that blood entitles someone to their respect. It is when you have a bond that you care about enough to contribute both love and hate and still stay together that is the brotherhood you speak of."

"Perhaps so."

Finnegan noticed the amount of 'perhaps' that made it into Faerie conversations. Albeit he had heard less 'mayhap' and 'perchance' than normal - maybe because Fionn had adjusted to human speech so much that he was getting lazy. Why did that thought make Finnegan so happy yet so sad?

"How do you mourn someone who is gone, but not truly gone?" Finnegan wondered.

"Your kind might bear a rune or the colors of pure white," Kieran said. When Finnegan gave him a slightly surprised look, he shrugged. "Mark spoke of his people's customs. And should he return, you would…'_blue banners when the lost return_,'" he remembered. Finnegan recalled when Arthur had mentioned blue banners when he'd seen Mark in the Sanctuary during that bargain, how Kieran had been coldly puzzled.

Finnegan knew that he probably shouldn't wear white. No one would understand who he was mourning, and even if they assumed it was his uncle or someone else, they would always be wrong. With the Cold Peace, he couldn't admit it was a faerie he loved and lost. But he pulled out his stele and bared his wrist, drawing the mourning rune.

The red rune bit into his skin, and admittedly he was forcing it to do so. He wanted to let it burn the pain away, but of course mourning runes were purely symbolic. The rune didn't blaze with the same lava-like beauty that Fionn's runes had, but even so, he felt it appropriate that his mourning rune was not black.

He requested Kieran's scabbard and drew the mourning rune on the fabric. It blazed silver instead of red, but silver helped camouflage it better. Kieran didn't protest even when Finnegan gave him the opportunity to stop him. Kieran slipped Fionn's cursed blade into its new scabbard and returned it to his person.

"Ave Atque Vale."

Kieran could only nod in silence.

* * *

Dearil was unsure how she should say goodbye to these benevolent strangers.

On the one hand, she knew they were kind enough to have nursed her back to health and protect her as they have. They offered supplies for the journey she and her brother were to embark upon, they had treated her without true harm or ill intent.

Should she feel guilty for burdening them with her woes? Should she offer reparations of some kind for the trouble she has caused? No, there was nothing to mourn.

"Are you sure you want…?"

The beautiful warlock was difficult to stare at. As was the incubus child, but she could at least understand it with him. She couldn't understand why this _other_ warlock seemed to shimmer - not as the incubus-spawn, but somehow that was even more appealing to her. Who was his father, she wondered? He seemed very intent on keeping it secret.

Dearil had trouble meeting _anyone's_ gaze; she had been trained for most of her life to avoid another's eyes, for meeting them would suggest you thought yourself an equal worthy of gazing into their very soul - and allowing them to do the same to you. But this warlock was so…sparkly. She had seen very few warlocks in her days, but perhaps it was not just his warlock mark - perhaps it was humans in general that fascinated her. That was not odd, she told herself. The Fair Folk found beauty in what was fleeting; the beauty of humans was ever so fleeting indeed.

She nodded her head, staring down at his bare feet upon the odd fabric that decorated the floors of parts of the apartment - carpet, they had called it. "I am certain, Sir ZeB."

It was odd how her body tensed at his reaction. Fear, perhaps? No…this was different from fear. She knew fear. She'd known it her whole life. This was…satisfaction. It was hope. It was hope that she had managed to please her superior in some way. He seemed to like it when she called him 'Sir ZeB.' Though his companions called him otherwise, and though she had once been resigned to calling him 'Warlock,' she found it wisest that she please him with the odd codename that he used in Faerie. She was one of the Fair Folk, after all, and that meant that he would be Sir ZeB to her.

"Well…okay." He handed her the box she had requested.

Filled with wrought iron chunks and arrowheads, sticks of rowan wood, vials of holy water, salt, and small boxes of grave soil - Dearil had requested a box with all the ingredients necessary to harm faeries. The box itself was made of enchanted wood that blocked out the effects, but even so she could feel the discomfort itch her fingers as a sort of phantom pain.

She barely came up to his shoulders in terms of height, but somehow she couldn't feel intimidated by him. There was something so gentle about his aura and his power; it was like she could feel within him fear that he would make an error that would offend her. She wanted to tell him that he had no reason to fear her wrath. She was not of high enough rank, no matter her father's blood coursing through her veins, that he should fear her scorn as he would others of her kind.

"I offer my sincerest gratitude, Sir ZeB. Yours is a most generous soul; your home is that of warmth and compassion unbeknownst to mine heart."

"I help anyone in the Shadow World that needs me. Though," he added, "you are one of the best Downworlders I've ever had the honor of meeting."

"H-Honor?" she repeated dumbly. "That which you speak of - mine soul you judge - it is not so bold a grace that you might deign to flatter-"

"It is not that I must deign to flatter you. It is that I genuinely wish your happiness and treat you as my equal to some capacity."

Dearil flinched, hoping that her hair fell across her face and hid the rising heat in her cheeks. "We are not equals, you and I."

"Perhaps not identical are we. However, I live and you live. We have the free will of choice, souls that pure demons do not possess, and that is what separates us from savage monsters who live only for carnage until their death. It is kinship and camaraderie that allow us to thrive in such a harsh and dangerous world, and so until you prove yourself a threat to my existence or the physical and mental wellbeing of me and my friends, then I will hope that we might become friends too."

Friends…

That was an odd concept for her. She did not have friends. She knew the word, of course, and she knew what it meant, but she had never truly experienced it. All her life she had known only her brothers and sister. She'd had brothers that had treated her better than others, but they…

She clenched her teeth, trying not to let the pain show on her face. Now was not the time to mourn the past. And yet she could not deny that anyone who showed her kindness would suffer because of it.

She did not want to see this beautiful warlock in pain. She could imagine it - his soothing voice turning to wails of agony, his glowing scales dyed red with blood and carved from his very flesh, his kind eyes shimmering with sympathy turned to betrayal. She could imagine the fear in his eyes, and then she could see the love and compassion bleed from his gaze, hardening into hatred and loathing. She had seen it before. And she didn't think she could bear to see it again.

She bowed her body, the box clasped within her grip. "I give you my thanks, Sir ZeB, but it is best that we might never cross paths again."

"Don't…don't enjoy my presence?" he quipped, but he could not hide the pain in his voice. "That's a shame. I figured my charm was irresistible."

The aching in his words were like daggers to her heart. She wished she could stay here, in this haven of peace and comfort and security. Kind angels, kind warlocks, her brother safe with her…

But she couldn't stay. Her blood pulled her home, to the realm of Faerie, to the Unseelie Court of her father, who she venerated above all others - to her King.

And so why did it bring her nearly to tears to say goodbye to these strangers?

Dearil stood straight and turned away without a word, heading into the portal room where her brother Kieran awaited her. She couldn't find anything else to say to the kind warlock, and she feared she might end up asking to stay another night just to be beside him and his handsome, luminescent face - and to see those beautiful angels for one more day, to know of their kindness. She wanted to read all those books in the shelves of the warlock's library, she wanted more of the foreign food and the odd carpet between her toes and the warm blankets of their beds. She wanted more nights falling asleep to the angel Finnegan's music and the stuffed bear whose smoky scent reminded her of home and comfort.

Dearil wiped her eyes and steadied her breathing. No. No more thinking. Thinking hurt. Thinking meant longing, longing meant she would be tormented by this crippling ache in her chest. She couldn't afford that right now. Home. She needed to return home.

Odd, it was, that her own home did not prompt the same longing that this foreign apartment did.

Kieran would take her to the last known location of the Wild Hunt. They prepared provisions in case the Hunt had moved, but Kieran would be able to track them down again. He would summon his steed and they would ride across Faerie and catch up to Gwyn's Hunt.

The angel Finnegan met her at the door, handing her a bag of the provisions, she assumed. "It's, uh, from Veon. Durable and lightweight, holds a lot."

Dearil nodded. She pulled the flap open and slipped the box of faerie-repellants inside.

"What's that?" Sir Finnegan asked.

"You needn't know." She hoped she didn't sound too dismissive or harsh. She didn't want to upset him.

She would never see him again, she told herself. She would never hear his beautiful voice again, or hear an instrument blessed by the angels. She chanced a glance up at his face. She wondered how and why humans had so many dots on their skin. Did _all_ the male Shadowhunters have them? Maybe it came with the strange, dull orange hair color. Even though it did not glow with magic as hers did, she still felt it beautiful. Humans were so enchanting, she mused once more.

"Okay," he conceded with little resistance. "Are you ready? Do you need anything else? Maybe we should get you some shoes-"

"I abhor footwear," she snapped, before silencing herself. She resisted the urge to bite her lip. She had once bit her lip until it bled to chastise herself, until she'd been told that it gave away her weakness and that she had done wrong.

"Oh, so you go barefoot everywhere?" he said, barely reacting to her outburst. She had expected scorn, though she knew of his kindness within her very core. She knew him, somehow. She knew he was not cruel. "You don't get calluses though - at least on your hands. Being barefoot opens you up to diseases when traveling. I'm not sure about Faerie, but I'm sure that even one of the Fair Folk is subject to both pain and illness should your feet be pierced and your bloodstream corrupted."

She flinched, realizing he was right. Blood was a powerful thing, and it was true that her kind didn't grow calluses no matter the damage their skin took. If she ended up piercing her feet and bleeding across the grounds of Faerie as they traveled, there was no telling the damage she could end up doing.

She was so unused to traveling that it had hardly occurred to her. She had only journeyed from the Unseelie Court to this warlock's apartment - her one venture into the unknown. And she had run herself ragged doing so. Getting to the human world had been simple once she'd figured out the shifting patterns of the entrances and exits, and the worst thing she'd faced was the hard pavement and asphalt, which wasn't jagged though it _did_ finally wear down her feet to be nearly bleeding while she asked for the nearest warlock and managed her way to his apartment. Luckily shedding blood on human asphalt didn't have the same risk as bleeding amongst the nature of Faerie.

"I'd thought of that," Sir ZeB suddenly said. He had magically appeared behind her (not magic, she hadn't sensed it, but close enough with his level of stealth) and held up a pair of sandals. "I had to figure out your shoe size and find a proper type of shoe that would be useful to you, but I think I finally settled on a pair."

He set them down and pulled the three straps open, allowing her to easily slip her feet in and then use some odd clasp (velcro, whatever that was) and adjust the grip the shoes had on her feet. That allowed them to hug her foot properly, and he demonstrated how easy it was to readjust them to her liking. She could either pull them tight enough that she had to pull the straps loose to free herself, or she could leave them loose enough that she could slide her feet in and out at will.

She blushed again as he helped her into the shoes, constantly asking her opinion on how tight they were, if she was hurt, if they were pinching her skin, if she could move her foot properly, and-

"You needn't question me so incessantly!" she finally hissed.

What _was_ it about this warlock that kept causing her to snap? Perhaps it was that she hated making her opinion known, and that it was exhausting to have to make choices - it was fatiguing to be fearful of every decision being scorned upon.

"Sorry, Princess." He was _smiling!_ Such a smile clearly demonstrated that he felt no true remorse.

"Do not…you…umph!" She was rendered speechless, only able to release a frustrated grunt. She hoped her face didn't look red as her hair.

She was not called a princess very often, though she technically _was_ one. She was simply Kingsdöttær; a word thrown at her almost in scorn and shame. That equated to princess, but it just didn't feel right.

"You said my hands do not have calluses," Dearil realized. No, she was _not_…actually yes, she _was_ trying to distract herself from the utterly charming warlock.

"I, uh…" Sir Finnegan seemed taken off guard that she had returned the conversation to him. "Oh, yeah, I did, didn't I?"

And Finnegan was the exact _opposite_ of Sir ZeB somehow. He was not bold and was very reserved, though he tried to act otherwise. But she had felt him when he had put his heart and soul behind his music. How she wished to hear the melodies of the human world more often. He wanted to comfort her too, he wanted to please her as though she were not the equivalent of a lowly servant - as though being a Kingsdöttær and being a princess meant she should be revered.

"Come along now, Dear." The other angel was reaching out for her, gently touching her shoulder. Her hair shimmered like the moonlight even as the dawn sun swept through the apartment windows. "Stop distracting her!" She shook her head. "Boys…"

She swept Dearil into the portal room while Finnegan looked like he was guilty and Sir ZeB attempted to protest.

"Don't let the handsome men get to you, Dearil," Selina said. "I know boys can be charming, but play your cards right and you can have _them_ stuttering over themselves and at your command."

Dearil couldn't help her shocked face, but she supposed that Shadowhunters were different than faeries. Really, Dearil herself was different than regular faerie women. Shadowhunter women like this Lady Selina must be bold to control the men around her so flawlessly.

"I could never do such a thing," Dearil confessed. She could hardly imagine being so bold.

"Well met, Dearil," Kieran greeted.

She nodded her head. "Well met," she agreed.

"You are prepared for our departure?"

She nodded once more. She slung her bag over her body, the weight barely a bother. The strap was built with a wide surface area, rather than a cord that would bite into her skin. Kieran had a similar bag; both were designed to disguise well into Faerie - that is, they wouldn't quickly be identified as foreign. Dearil's dress had a glamour over it, as did the Centurion cloak draped across her shoulders. The cloak was at least durable and might actually be a dull enough color to blend in naturally. Her bag had a clip hidden at the base of the strap too, so that she could release the strap and slide it under her cloak without taking the cloak off. Kieran had a new cloak as well, though it was not one of the Nephilim Centurions.

Kieran held out his hand, and she noticed the scar across his hand. Her own reached out to clasp his instinctively, a tingle running through her hand and down her body through her very veins. His hand did not necessarily engulf hers, but she could feel his protective nature through his grip. She saw her mother in him, fierce yet calming as the tides.

"Have you used a Portal before?" Selina asked.

She shook her head. She knew of Portals, how they worked. You needed to know your destination or at least _have_ someone who knew of it to guide you. Portals and teleportation were available through warlock magic or faerie magic, but she knew that warlock Portals would be different than faerie magic. Perhaps once in a while she was summoned to her father's court through magic because he was impatient, and she herself was adept at her own faerie magic, but warlock magic was…off.

"I will guide you," Kieran promised.

Dearil reviewed their plan to meet Gwyn and allow him to send her to the Unseelie Court. She had only Kieran to guide her through the dangers of Faerie, and he had to report to the Wild Hunt or face Gwyn's wrath, so if she wanted to find her way home without dying in a world she did not know, she needed to follow him. That, and…she was her brother - her mother's child. She wanted to at least get to know him before she returned to the Unseelie Court and he returned to the Wild Hunt.

"Kieran," Sir Finnegan announced. "You said Fionn always knew your pain. Because of your bond?"

Kieran nodded.

"And so now, with Dearil…"

Kieran nodded once more.

Dearil frowned. Was he suggesting what she thought he was?

The difference between Dearil and Fionn - at least, one of the greater differences of note - was that Dearil was far more magically adept. She was unburdened by the curse that drained Fionn's life, but on top of that she _was_ trained in many forms of rune magic (regular runes and sigils, not those of the Angel). The blood bond between Fionn and Kieran had made it so that Fionn knew of Kieran's pain, and to some extent Kieran could know of Fionn's. But with Dearil's power being far more potent…

"Keep her safe."

"I will do so," Kieran agreed.

Sir Finnegan's eyes tried to meet Dearil's. "I…uh…good luck. I hope you're happy."

"Thank you, Sir Finnegan. And Sir ZeB. I…offer my gratitude unto you all." She bowed her head, hand still clasped within Kieran's.

Kieran urged her along, giving a final nod before he trekked through the open Portal, taking Dearil with him.

* * *

"As predicted," Selina sighed.

"I mean it's not a very big loss," Finnegan said.

"I'm sorry, sir." One of the mundane servants that worked at the San Francisco Institute - her family taken in because they had been born with the Sight - set a plate of food in front of Finnegan.

He had started to feel more comfortable away from the Institute for a long time now, long before he'd ever lost his uncle and had been wrapped up in the Blackthorns' lives. He had known the Blackthorns and the Carstairs for a long time as he grew up, though he wasn't nearly as close to them as Emma was - practically part of the same family.

He and his family, the Scion family, the Dalmasca family, none of them were famous enough to be known in the Shadowhunter world. Technically his father had taken his mother's last name - which wasn't illegal or anything, and often it was done to preserve a family name if, say, the woman's family line only had a single daughter (remaining). Shadowhunters popped out a lot of children, mostly because there was no telling how many might make it to adulthood, and sometimes it did happen that there might be a temporary end to a family line unless a mundane ascended and took on the new moniker.

The San Fran Institute wasn't that big in comparison to the New York or the London Institutes - or even the Los Angeles Institute, Finn believed. Others might argue; California was big in the whole of things (it took up the coast of the US, after all), but Finn had always thought that Arthur Blackthorn - and before him Andrew Blackthorn - was more powerful. Maybe that was simply because Samuel wasn't that involved in his childrens' lives. Especially after the 'death' of his parabatai, leaving the blank scar of the rune on his abdomen that was never visible.

"You don't have to apologize, Elena," Finn said.

As a cook and servant alike who served her own food, Elena was often the one to deliver food - either at the dining table or to one of their rooms when food was summoned. Elena was one of the few people who helped hide and supported Finnegan's musical talents, even wanting to be taught piano herself. There wasn't a way to really hide something from Elena - who had access to pretty much every room in the Institute so long as it wasn't runed to be locked.

"But you've had so little time to prove yourself," Elena urged. "You've always been a kind master to _me_, and I know you're a good Shadowhunter."

He smiled. "Thanks, Elena, but…I don't really _want_ to be put in charge. I think I only _was_ because Samuel was my uncle."

"Master Samuel was a kind and generous man, but he held great heartbreak and confusion and a great burden on his shoulders."

"He _did_ have some big important missions that even _we_ were dispatched on, Finn," Selina pointed out.

"Like I paid any attention to _those_, Lee."

"Master Finnegan, you can't possibly have been so distracted that you ignore crucial information!"

Something about Elena addressing her as 'Master Finnegan' reminded him of Dearil, calling him '_Sir_ Finnegan.' Something about that made him smile. She was so innocent, and easily she reminded him of himself.

"Master Finnegan, what is that look on your face?"

"Hm? What look?"

Selina sighed and shook her head. "He's going through some things, Elena. Please don't push it."

"It's fine," Finnegan said. "I can't just avoid it forever." He rubbed his finger over the mourning rune on his wrist. It still stung and throbbed, as if it were the first rune he'd ever received.

He had been given his first rune prematurely, and rather than the Voyance rune on the back of his dominant hand, it had been an Endurance rune, hidden on his shoulder blade. He'd heard a story once of a girl who'd been given a Strength rune before the Voyance rune, but the Endurance rune, he had reasoned as a child, surely would allow him to bear the weight of his first rune regardless. That's what his father had convinced him of, him and his sister.

The scar left behind from that Endurance rune still shimmered on his back like it had been carved into him with a knife. He really shouldn't say such a thing, considering what he knew had happened to Mark Blackthorn, but…

Gods, Selina had been furious when she'd found out. He demanded that she suffer through the same thing, that she wanted to be branded as they were and would not let them bear such a burden alone. Finn's mother and uncle had forbidden it, making the three of them promise by the angel not to say anything. She'd arranged for a Silent Brother to keep the secret during their _actual_ first rune ceremony, or to at least avoid punishment for it. Selina managed to convince Finnegan to give her an Endurance rune same as theirs, and Merida had quickly found out. Not trusting Finnegan's shaky hand, Merida snatched the stele from him and did it herself. It was then that they'd been marked a trio, Finn thought. It was a silent pack that they would stick together and put their camaraderie before anything else. Selina had once joked about the siblings competing to see who would become her parabatai.

"Well you've hardly told me all the juicy details about your work," Elena said. She plopped down in one of the empty seats of the large dining table - built to serve dozens of Shadowhunters at once, but only _needing_ to ever serve _less than_ a dozen at any given time.

Elena he trusted with a lot of things, but all she had ever known was that he fell in love with a Downworlder long ago, back in his teenage years. She'd urged him to confess his relationship - especially after Alec Lightwood had so famously kissed a warlock in the middle of a room full of Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike that were preparing for war. A part of Finn had always wished that he'd have the excuse to use the Alliance rune on himself and Fionn. He'd been waiting for the excuse to do so. Now he would never have it.

Finnegan lightly explained what had been going on, with her so helpfully interjecting at certain intervals with 'Ooo's and 'Aww's and other such helpful audience noises that would occur on a movie or TV sitcom.

"I'm sorry, Master Finnegan. You must have loved him very dearly."

Elena now knew that he had loved and lost a faerie man, so there. Finnegan had a minor thought that a few years ago, he'd have died of mortification if even someone as close to him as Elena ever found out his secrets.

"Dearil is alive, that's all that matters. I know Kieran will keep her safe." '**_At least until she returns to the Unseelie Court_**.'

He thought of all the hints that Fionn had ever dropped about his sister being abused in the Court, how Fionn had said that his father had once stabbed him with wrought iron every day for a few years. Dearil wanted to do what the Unseelie King wanted, and Finnegan couldn't tell if he wanted her to be successful as well, or if he wanted the King to never get what he wanted out of her. But Dearil would go back to him, she would suffer as she tried to please a man who would likely never accept her.

He ended up bending the body of his fork under his grip. Ugh, he had a Strength rune that still had some juice left in it. Not like it was the first time that a Shadowhunter had damaged the silverware though.

"Sorry, Elena."

She sighed, but he could tell she wasn't _truly_ upset. "It's fine, you self-deprecating carrot."

"Strawberry," he corrected, before blinking. Where had _that_ come from?

Elena laughed. "Right then."

Elena had short blonde hair, pale almost as Selina's, but with blue and pink highlights that apparently grew naturally. There was evidence of faerie blood in her ancestors (probably the reason she had the Sight), but she didn't have pointy ears or sharp features, and her hair highlights were actually quite pale and blended in almost naturally, so it was easy for her to just tell people that it was some mundane hair dye. Especially with the Cold Peace, Elena hid her heritage and her hair more strictly. Luckily she blended in with the rest of the mundane servants well enough.

She _was_ beautiful, certainly, but not Finn's type. _Did_ he have a type? He certainly liked Elena, but not in a romantic sense. Maybe that would just be how it was with every woman he met.

He hoped that he and Dearil could be friends like with Elena.

"There's that look again," Elena sighed.

"_What_ look?"

"The look of longing. You want Dearil, you want to convince her that Fionn is worth saving, but you also don't want her to make any sacrifices. You want to keep your distance because everything and everyone tells you that you should, but you also want to connect to the only thing that's left of Fionn."

He frowned. "Stop being so wise."

She laughed. "I've _got_ to be wise if I intend to stand up to the expectations of Nephilim."

The door to the dining room popped open and another of the servants poked his head through. "What's up, Gregory?"

Gregory, who ran most of the errands around the Institute to search for someone and request something, to mail letters, etc. looked displeased. "It's your father, sir."

Finnegan tensed and sat up straight. Selina gripped the table cloth like she intended to either rip a hole through it or sweep it out from under the entire table like a party trick. If nothing else, it'd be an amusing distraction to see her try. Selina's face had gone pale as her icy blonde hair.

Elena shot to her feet and pushed her chair in, as if trying to conceal that she had dared sit at a table meant for her masters. Finnegan and Selina were fine with her sitting with them, but of course others were harsher towards servants and some even figured out Elena's heritage and still thought the sixtieth of faerie blood in her system made her untrustworthy.

"Why is he here?" Finnegan demanded. He had never been brave in the face of his father, but he knew that putting up a front of a leader who had earned his place was important to getting anywhere with the man.

Finnegan was an adult now. The strange distance between being seventeen and eighteen, the close yet far juxtaposition of a child and an adult, seemed to haunt Finnegan even now. His father treated him both like a child and an adult who hadn't yet earned the right to be called so. Even when he'd turned eighteen, he still hadn't really _comprehended_ that he was now considered an 'adult' and now had all the privileges that he'd been denied just days previous - heck, just _hours_ previous. A part of him still felt like a teenager, like that seventeen-year-old who had just as much wisdom as he would have a few months later as an eighteen-year-old and yet was still considered a child. His father made him feel like a fifteen-year-old, too young to even pretend he was an adult, and yet older than some of the twelve-year-olds who were fighting wars like Emma and Julian.

But Fionn had given him the courage to stand up for himself. He couldn't rely on Fionn now. He had to start standing on his own two feet, stop hiding like being a Scion meant he was not an important Shadowhunter, like that meant he could just hide in a corner, not speak out during meetings because his voice wouldn't matter.

"Because in light of your failure, I have been assigned to the San Francisco Institute as its new Head, Finnegan."

Selina flinched and fisted a handful of the dining table cloth. "No…"

"Why so pale, Selina Dalmasca?" Finnegan's father pushed past Gregory into the dining room, leaving the servant baffled and chastised as if he'd done something wrong. "You've nothing to fear, after all. I'm going to whip the California Institutes into shape - considering how poorly affairs around here have been dealt with in these recent weeks since your promotion, Finnegan. If you manage to do well enough, perhaps your demotion will only be temporary."

Finnegan tried not to let his anger show. Selina looked absolutely terrified in a way he'd never seen from her before. He recalled what Selina had said about his father; '_He's a witch. Evil, very bad, probably gave the Scourge to Phoenix. They possess people, and he was probably going after your mom since she was the next Oracle…_'

Selina had spoken so casually about the affair that he believed she didn't have anything to fear. But if a _human_ \- Finn's _dad_ \- had been capable of giving Fionn the curse that had nearly ripped him apart, one that was a threat to the whole Astral realm…

"We welcome you back to the San Francisco Institute," Finnegan said calmly. He knew that now was as good a time as anything to prove how strong and unfazed he could be by such unfortunate circumstances."You just missed Merida."

"I will see your sister soon enough," he promised. "Now, how about you be a gentleman and escort me to my new office?"

* * *

Dearil rested her head against her stuffed bear, using it as a pillow. Sir ZeB appeared to have snuck it into her belongings when he'd prepared the rest of her supplies. She was happy to have it, honestly, though she feared it might be taken or destroyed in the dangers of Faerie.

It seemed to be flame-proof as well, which was considerate of Sir ZeB. She was able to sleep in a small bonfire that Kieran sat beside on watch while she slept. He said that he would take a watch and she asked when _he_ would sleep. During the day, he said, when it would be easier for her to see enemies while she was on watch and alert him. So long as they stayed still and cloaked, it would hopefully be better camouflage than a pyre in the dark night.

Dearil had no dreams. She couldn't say that she _wanted_ any, after the events at the warlock's apartment.

She took her first watch, and Kieran said to wake her at dusk when the sun was near to the horizon. It was uneventful, thankfully, but she still felt a small surge of pride that Kieran trusted her enough to guard him while he slept. Maybe it was simply because he couldn't just go _without sleep_, but it was a smidgeon of trust that her other brothers would never have given her - at least not without warning her many times and threaten her for failure.

When Kieran woke, he summoned his faerie steed and helped her mount in front of him so that he could keep her steady. She had few experiences with horses, but she certainly felt a combination of exhilaration and terror as they took off at seemingly impossible speeds and even took off from the ground. She gripped Kieran's arm wrapped around her tightly the entire time, but she wouldn't say the experience terrified her into not wanting to ride once again.

Kerian did not talk much during the trip. Dearil found herself _wanting_ to talk to him in order to get to know him, but she knew better than to speak to her brothers without warning. There was an undeniable air of chaos around him - as the Wild Hunt who reaped the dead emanated.

But he was also very kind and gentle. He offered her their water supplies before he took it himself, and made sure that she ate before he did. He let her sleep longer than he ever did and tried to avoid waking her violently unless he was sure there was a threat they were better fleeing from.

And he was learning, too. He learned what happened when she faced bouts of weakness where her blood sugar dipped from the wrong types of food or just not enough food. Their supplies held a bottle of honey, which he had been instructed to spread across her gums should she face a bout of weakness. He gave them extra time so that she could perfectly set up their temporary camps with everything straight and aligned. He helped her collect the objects that drew her eye but also made sure that what he let her keep was going to actually be useful in satisfying her urges. Whenever she felt she was losing something, he asked her whether she wanted her bear or it and staring at her bear helped her regain her self-control.

The worst part was probably her concentration. Kieran had to repeat things to make sure she was listening, and eventually he settled on the solution that making her repeat it helped make sure she had listened and that she understood. Really important information he challenged her on at random, calling out to see if she still remembered when to wake him up, what food and water they had left, how to summon his steed, etc. When she couldn't sleep because her mind refused to rest, he had her tell him of the spells she knew until she exhausted herself talking - what felt like hours of discussion was actually only about twenty to thirty minutes. He refused to let her wander off to be alone, but he respected when she didn't want to talk.

"How soon shall we meet the Hunt?" Dearil finally asked.

"Two days travel, I might presume. They do not move away from us, but nor do they seek us out."

"Will Gwyn punish you?"

"I cannot say for certain. He may be obligated to do so."

"For your crime against the Unseelie Court?"

"For the loss of Mark Blackthorn, despite the terms of a farce agreement failing to be met. Mark may yet be considered a deserter, but I must vouch that he must not be. He is with his family, and that is his right."

"What were the terms of the agreement unfulfilled?"

Kieran explained what had happened in recent days with Mark, Iarlath, the Blackthorns, and his own erroneous judgment.

"You did so love this half-fey," Dearil finally said.

Kieran nodded cautiously. "A love as bright as the sun and vast as the seas…"

"Do you remember Mother?" Dearil blurted.

Kieran's dark, bi-colored eyes turned towards her curiously. Dearil had broken her habit of feeling ashamed when she spoke out of turn, at least with Kieran. She accepted what punishments he would harm her with, but he had so far proven quite lenient. And she had the right to ask this question.

"I remember her face still," he admitted. "You do not forget those that love you."

"How long…how long since she perished?"

Kieran did not let much emotion show, but Dearil could see his hidden tension - and his utter despair. The only thing that Kieran reacted so sorrowfully to was when he had explained his betrayal of Mark.

He had come to terms with the fact that he had hurt Mark, and it had been his fault. He had betrayed the one he loved - not intentionally, perhaps, but it was his own foolishness, selfishness, and hasty inexperience that had caused him to act with jealous rage. His punishment was to face the possibility of never seeing Mark again, and even if he saw Mark again, Mark may never forgive him. Even if Mark forgave him, Mark may never love him again.

Dearil felt her heart clench. She felt her brother's pain - a vice on her heart that clamped down and made her feel like it would pop. She wondered if she would cry blood tears, if her body would turn to a puddle of blackened ooze and her bones would turn to dust. She wondered: if he broke, how would she be punished by this blood oath that she herself did not consent to?

"Many years," he said. "I was young, but her face remains clear in my mind still."

"You look much her child, do you know?"

"So I am told." He finally met her eyes. "As do you."

Dearil's eyes quickly darted to the grass. It was warm beneath her, and she caused some blades of greenery to sizzle and then smoke as she waited. "You cannot possibly think such."

"And why would that be?"

"My - our - mother was gentle as the stream and fierce as the tides. Her smile was warming to an aching soul, and her pain did not impede her compassion. She was beautiful of face and handsome of heart. I do not resemble her. I do not have her appearance nor her mannerisms. I have not her bravery, courage, or strength. I did not inherit her smile or even her weary mask that would resist the withering waves of life that erode at my defenses."

"You have her stubborn innocence," Kieran muttered. He caught Dearil frowning at him and shrugged. "You do not seem to understand how your face resembles hers. You hold yourself in low regard, yet your jaw sets as hers did when she faced unpleasant words or circumstances. You bend and bow under the whims of superiors, and yet there is resilience and ferocity behind your eyes."

"I cannot satisfy. I am but a useless child my father ought to have dispatched long ago. You must know of his hatred regarding daughters. I should not have lived beyond my birth, and I only breathe now because my father wants of me a blessing I cannot give him - though I would offer succor were I able. And as I fail to control my own power, others suffer in my stead. My inadequacy harms those around me and even those with no involvement. Mother is _gone…!_"

Dearil finally snapped and broke down crying, burying her head in her knees and pulling her cloak around her as if to hide from the rest of the world. She hated crying, but she did it all the time. She'd had countless nights unable to sleep, where the only time she ever _did_ rest was because someone physically knocked her out - either from blunt-force trauma or from blood loss. Crying was a sign that she was weak, a sign that what her brothers and father did affected her, and her one sister warned her against showing such emotion to tormentors. If she could not handle her own brothers, her family that would not have her killed for her missteps, then she would not survive a captor that truly meant her harm.

But she was tired of being strong. She was tired of her mind and body always working against her and having to hold herself together like repelling magnets trying to fly in all directions. In times of her sorrow she would go to her mother. She would be held by a tight embrace that did not cause her pain; her mother would hold her together when she had lost the energy to. Her mother would count to her, she would sing light melodies and teach Dearil to repeat them. They could spend the night up late telling her mother stories of what she learned - once she'd explained the names of dozens of stars, and another time she'd explained famous poets and musicians.

She tried to concentrate on something, perhaps a story to distract her. She needed something she knew by heart, something that would take her concentration away, even if she started wandering down a tangent and just kept going. Anything to keep her moving.

'_Once there was a goddess who had a loving husband. He ended up dying one day, and finding herself unable to move on, she decided she would go to the Underworld to get him back. She fought her way through many trials of the gates down to this Hell and met the Queen of the Underworld. But upon demanding her husband, she was informed that she cannot see her husband because she is living and he is dead. And so she attempted to leave, however the Queen would not have it. She had broken into the Underworld and disrespected its Queen, and so she would find that leaving is far more difficult than entering. And so the Queen inflicted her with dozens of curses. Though she was a goddess and therefore could not die, she would be imprisoned within the Underworld in constant agony for however long the Queen desired her punishment to be_.'

Dearil finally managed to stop trembling, and her tears had finally stopped. She wiped her face with her cloak, but she realized that Kieran was holding her. He gripped her tightly with far more strength than she, but she knew he would not harm her.

"Mother is dead," he agreed lightly. "My brother is dead. We are alone yet together, you and I. Let us walk this cursed existence together, however long the path before us may stretch. Or however short it may not."

Dearil nodded.

She thought back to Sir Finnegan, how he longed to find his companion whom she had become in her lost life. She remembered the darkness, the fear, and the pain of Fionn Flann - who had damned himself with hundreds of curses all so that he might protect Kieran.

'_Without the goddess' blessings, the land would grow barren and the creatures would all die out. As such, a god created a new being in order to rescue her - a sexless creation who braved their way to the Underworld and charmed the Queen into giving her the healing water that could restore the goddess. The two fled the Underworld together, but the Queen, enraged, cursed the goddess' rescuer to forever live their life in the shadows and to be outcasts from society. The goddess, learning of the curse, blessed her savior with the powers of healing, prophecy, and wisdom. Though they would always be an outcast among their people who must travel in the dark, they would stand at the crossroads and guide others on the journey home._'

Dearil eyed the scabbard on her brother's hip.

Descending into Hell. What was the Shadowhunter saying? '_Easy is the descent into Hell_.' Exiled from hir people, and gifted only to guide others - born and rewarded all in service of others. A hero who lived in the shadows and any who were like them would suffer the same fate. Dearil wondered if she would ever find them, guided home, but ever so lonely for the whole of her existence.

"Dearil, gather your supplies," Kieran ordered. "We must depart. Dearil!"

She realized he had tensed up. Dearil stared off into the distance where his eyes had landed and saw a precession of faerie steeds thundering towards them. How long had she been able to see them? How long had Kieran been sharply demanding that she release him and gather her belongings?

She hated the fact that her mind stopped processing things at random intervals and she felt like she woke up having lost information that was right in front of her eyes. It was one thing to lose memories of a former life; it was another thing to fail to process information because of your own concentration issues.

The Wild Hunt, she first assumed. But though Kieran may yet face punishment for his crime, the concern on his face was not of dread, but of panic.

Dearil was swift to gather her few belongings, shoving them all into her bag haphazardly. She pulled her box of faerie repellants above to the top of her bag, resting it atop her stuffed bear that took up a great deal of space. Its beady gaze stared up at her innocently. She wished she could be so ignorant about the world.

"Who is that?" she finally asked. "The Wild Hunt?"

"No," Kieran said, throwing her atop his steed Windspear. "That is not the Wild Hunt."

"Then who?"

He mounted behind her, swift and practiced as a warrior who had spent many years learning to be both ruthless and efficient upon a steed. He was preparing for battle if they could not escape.

"Those are the forces of our father's court. The Unseelie King has sent for us."

"And we prepare to flee?"

Kieran urged Windspear to take off, and Dearil could barely hear Kieran speaking into her ear over the wind as they quickly rose up to speed and took off into the dawn sky. They preferred to travel under cover of night (though day and night alike had their challenges) and they had just recently settled down before they were forced to depart. It was Dearil's turn to rest, but adrenaline pushed her to wakefulness.

"I must speak to Gwyn for Mark. And I will _not_ let them have you. They will not take you from me. Not yet."

Dearil tried to process the implication of what he was saying. Kieran wanted to keep her from the Court…because he did not want to be separated? From a sister he barely knew, the one who became a man that took his mother away from him. From a sister who had a slew of problems that required others to constantly put in effort around her. But perhaps he merely felt obligated. She was his sister, the daughter of his mother.

He would likely suffer consequences at the hands of the Court, as would she. Though they hurried to the Wild Hunt to finish their business, the two of them were walking the inevitable path towards their doom.

She thought of the goddess' savior. Would Dearil walk into the depths of Hell and face down the Queen in her domain to save someone she didn't know? Would she do it knowing the curse that would stain her to forever be alone and without home? And what blessings might she receive at the end in return?

'_Let us walk this cursed existence together, however long the path before us may stretch. Or however short it may not._'

And so the descent into the Underworld stood before them.

* * *

**Chapter title: '_This City_' by Sam Fischer**


End file.
